Edgar Wallace

“ Palythorpe shortly.
At one end of the building a small cubbyhole of an office had been run up.
“Come in here,” said Palythorpe, switching on a light. “Now, let me have a look at this paper.”
It had been Mr. Maggerson's boast that his summary was understandable to the meanest intelligence.
It is a reproach which has often been leveled against the scientist that he is the only man who has anything worth saying, and yet does not know how to say it. In this case, however clear the summary might be to him and to his friends, it had been more or less gibberish to Tom Elmers. ”

“ Mr. Elmers did not display any enthusiasm.
“This is supposed to be a holiday,” he said. “What's the idea? I've been working hard for you, and all I get out of it is——”
“Do as you're told,” snarled the man and, taking some paper from the rack, he began to write. ”

“ It was at a little Catholic chapel of the Sacred Heart, on the Barnet Road, that the sweating driver brought his car to a standstill, and Elmers, springing off before the taxi had stopped, flew up the steps and into the cool interior. A priest was standing near the altar rail in the deserted church, giving directions to some workmen who were repairing the mosaic floor. He heard the clatter of the man's feet and faced him. ”