J. S. Fletcher

“ He's a most punctilious, methodical man, and after booking a room at your hotel he certainty wouldn't absent himself without letting you know. So—something's happened. You heard nothing of him in Selchester?"
"Nothing?" replied Miss Byfield.
"And has Mr. Brackett made no inquiries?" asked Brixey.
"You see, we thought he would be coming back every minute," explained Miss Byfield. "Mr. Brackett didn't know what to do, and he didn't like to go to the police about it. But he had some hopes that you, perhaps, had heard from Mr. Linthwaite." ”

“ The taxicab driver pulled up in front of a palatial building, got down, and, opening the door of his vehicle, looked at his fare as a man looks who is about to impart information which, he is quite certain, is being imparted to its recipient for the first time.
"Morning Sentinel office, miss," he said.
The girl dropped a two-shilling piece into the outstretched hand, and hurried into the doorway. A grey-moustached commissionaire, presiding over a group of boys, sized up her timidity and inexperience, and advanced as she entered.
"Yes, miss?" he asked. "Want to see somebody?" ”

“ Then, you've had no tea? Very well—we've just got an hour to get some and to catch the 5.45 to Selchester. Sorry to hustle you, but I reckon I must get straight down there and take a look round for my uncle; he's got to be found. So——"
He seized his suit-case as he spoke, flung the green Homburg on the back of his red hair, threw an overcoat over his left shoulder, and hurried Miss Byfield away to the lift. Two minutes more and she was again in a taxicab and in the roar of Fleet-Street, and Brixey, sitting at her side, was looking as if all the noise was a million miles away. ”