J. S. Fletcher

“ What was Parslewe after? What was Pawley doing there? Who was Pawley, anyway? Why, at that juncture, when his reinforcements had come up, did Parslewe want to parley with Pawley? For a parley it was that was going on in that kitchen, without a doubt. We heard nothing; there were no raised voices, no evidence of any angry or wordy discussion. All we heard was an occasional whisper from Weech, a muttered growl from Bickerdale in response. But on the hearth a kettle was singing, and at a corner of the rug, near Bickerdale’s slippered feet, a cat sat and purred and purred.... ”

“ As for those of us—five men—who were left in the sitting-room, we kept to our respective camps. Bickerdale and Weech, at their end of the place, hung together, eyeing us furtively, and occasionally whispering. Weech in particular looked venomous, and by that time I had come to the conclusion that he had bluffed Madrasia and myself very cleverly on the occasion of his visit to Kelpieshaw. As for the inspector and his man and myself, we sat in a line, on three very stiff-seated, straight-backed chairs, smoking Parslewe’s cigars, for lack of anything better to do, and watched and waited. ”

“ Parslewe wants.”
Weech sprang to his feet—an epitome of anger and chagrin.
“But us!” he vociferated. “Us—me and him! What are we going to get out of it? Where shall we profit?” He turned almost savagely on Bickerdale. “Don’t!” he went on. “Don’t you do it! Never mind those fellows over there! there’s no police business in this that I know of, and——”
“I’ll give you in charge of the police in two minutes, my lad!” said Parslewe suddenly. “Just to show you——”
“Mr. Bickerdale,” said Pawley. “Take my advice! I—I understand—from Mr. Parslewe—you’ll not be a loser.” ”