The Chimneys
Too Long; Didn't Read
Inspector Badgworthy in his office. Time, 8.30 a.m. A tall portly man, Inspector Badgworthy, with a heavy regulation tread. Inclined to breathe hard in moments of professional strain. In attendance Constable Johnson, very new to the Force, with a downy unfledged look about him, like a human chicken.
The telephone on the table rang sharply, and the inspector took it up with his usual portentous gravity of action.
“Yes. Police station Market Basing. Inspector Badgworthy speaking. What?”
Slight alteration in the inspector’s manner. As he is greater than Johnson, so others are greater than Inspector Badgworthy.
“Speaking, my lord. I beg your pardon, my lord? I didn’t quite hear what you said?”
Long pause, during which the inspector listens, quite a variety of expressions passing over his usually impassive countenance. Finally he lays down the receiver, after a brief “At once, my lord.”