24 : In the Morning“Almond paste,” said Inspector Oates. “That’s what it is, almond paste. What a clever, clever devil!”
He was standing by the desk in the sitting room at Bottle Street, prodding a sticky cherry with a nail file.
It was past two in the afternoon of the following day, and he had already spent half an hour in the flat.
Mr. Campion was himself again in all but one particular: his naturally affable temper had undergone a complete change, and it was a bitterly angry man who confronted his friend.
“Now you know everything,” he said shortly. “I’ve told you my story, and you have your men’s reports, I suppose.”
A faint smile passed over, the inspector’s face.
“I have,” he said. “One day you shall see them, but not now. You wouldn’t appreciate them. In honest P. C. English th
