They Never Came Back by Brian Flynn

Author:Brian Flynn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dean Street Press
Published: 2021-06-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter XVI

WHO LAUGHS LAST

As he turned his head from the contemplation of MacMorran pushing his way through the crowd in the wake of Bellamy and Asater, Anthony Bathurst felt somebody pulling his arm. Turning, he saw that it was Sir Cloudesley Slade at his side again.

“Look here,” the Baronet was saying, “You must join my party at the Turin Grill this evening. For a bite of supper. You know—a bird and a bottle! Several bottles. I won’t hear of a refusal. You and that policeman pal of yours. What’s his name? MacGillicuddy? I DON’T CARE WHAT HIS BLASTED NAME IS! Jove I’m excited! What a night! There’ll be a hot time in the old town to-night. Red? I’ll say! We’ll paint it Crimson Bloody Lake—not red, my boy.”

He swung Anthony round in his elation and yelled again with excitement. Anthony was just able to murmur a conventionally polite acceptance.

“You’ll know ’em all—that are comin’ along,” went on the elated Sir Cloudesley, “so you won’t feel out in the cold. There’ll be you and your ‘busy’ pal, myself, Godfrey and his girl friend whom you’ve met, Whitfield and Jack Lambert, Adrian Manning who announced the scrap and Doug. Bradfield himself, the referee. Nice little family party—what—Bathurst? The bubbly’s on the ice in the buckets already. Meet me in the vestibule at the Turin just before midnight. You’ll be going up by car, I suppose? Yes? Right. That’s on, then. Don’t forget to tell MacClutterbuck. See you there.”

Sir Cloudesley pranced off, the picture of wild delight. Anthony grinned at his retreating figure. “On such a night,” he whispered to himself, “did Thisbe” . . . and then fell to wondering how Inspector MacMorran was faring in the chase. If the Inspector didn’t come back pretty quickly how was he going to pass Sir Cloudesley’s invitation on to him? Bit of a problem—that. Anthony looked at his watch. Time was getting on. He had little of it to waste if he were going to keep a punctual appointment with Sir Cloudesley Slade at the Turin Grill. He decided that he would wait a quarter of an hour for MacMorran . . . not a minute longer. If the Inspector didn’t turn up by that time he would go. He kept to his decision. At the end of the quarter hour, there was still no sign of MacMorran’s return. Anthony made his way out, found his car, drove quietly back to town, changed at his flat and was waiting in the vestibule at the Turin with eight minutes to spare.

Sir Cloudesley Slade arrived with most of his party at two minutes to the hour. He bustled up to Anthony—the crevices of his face creased and crinkled with cordiality. Anthony explained the unavoidable absence of MacMorran. Sir Cloudesley waved the excuses aside. “Don’t worry about that, my boy. If you haven’t seen him, you couldn’t ask him—and that’s that. So what’s the odds? All the same, I should have liked him here. Decent fellow—Macconnachie.”

He introduced Anthony to Manning and Bradfield.

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