7. AN ADMIRER OF SCOTLAND YARD
On the following Thursday night, Inspector Duff again walked into Hayley’s room at the Vine Street station. The divisional inspector took one look at his old friend, and smiled sympathetically.
“I don’t need to ask,” he remarked.
Duff took off coat and hat and tossed them on to a chair, then slumped into another beside Hayley’s desk.
“Do I show it as plainly as that?” he said. “Well, it’s true, old chap. Not a thing, Hayley, not a blessed thing. I’ve hung round Broome’s Hotel until I’m beginning to feel a hundred years old myself. I’ve scoured the shops until my feet ache. A clever lad, the murderer of Hugh Morris Drake. The trail is cold.”
“You’re about done up,” Hayley told him. “Relax a bit, my boy, and try some entirely different method of approach.”
