"And so to bed," said the High Commissioner.
vii
SERGEANT RUDDOCK stood a little awkwardly in the library of Sir Jefferson Cobb. The walls, relieved with books that mounted to the ceiling, glowed in the noon sunshine. Through the tall windows he could see the level lawns stretching to the park, with a ribbon of white road leading to the gate a mile away. A puff of dust and the winking of the chromium-plated steel radiator and headlamps of a large limousine caught his eye. It was moving along the white road towards the house.
He looked at his watch—noon within the minute. He slipped his hands into his belt and out again, smoothing his uniform and glancing at himself in an old Venetian mirror hanging above the mantelshelf. He must make a good impression. This was the vital moment, a turni
