28 Moral‘Two teeth?’ said the man from Scotland Yard with contempt. ‘He’s got seven. Three at the bottom, four at the top. Mary and I are crazy about him. You’ll have to come round and see him as soon as you can get out again.’
He was sitting forward in the big chair, before one of the first of autumn’s fires, in the flat at Bottle Street.
‘I’ll come down next week. I’m all right now.’ The slightly high-pitched voice was more hollow than it had been, but it had not lost that suggestion of exuberance which had always been its characteristic. Campion was almost completely hidden in the depths of his high-backed Toby chair. Only now and again when the firelight flickered did the other man get a glimpse of his face. It was still desperately haggard from his long illness. Ali Barber’s bullet
