15
The Beanspiller“Public house nothing! This is a hotel.”
Charlie Luke had never appeared a finer animal in harder condition. His suit might have been buttoned tightly over wood, and he perched on the plush-seated chair in the deserted upstairs dining room of the Eagle Tavern in Scribe Street, E.C.3., glowing at Mrs. Broome as if she were a plate of cornflakes and he a greedy child on a poster advertising them. Mr. Campion, who was between them, was amused despite his anxiety.
“At lunch time this room is crowded with solid business men but in the evening they’ve all caught their trains home and it is quiet and comfortable for us to have a chat in, see?” the Superintendent was explaining. “You’re being given Royal treatment. I’ve had them open it up and turn on the lights for us.”
“Not
