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Books for Sale |
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CHIEF INSPECTOR Bill Cromwell took one look at the Green Valley Motel and said " no." He spoke the word emphatically, a sour expression on his forbidding face ; his mouth was pulled down at the corners, and his bushy eyebrows almost met in a disapproving scowl. He was sitting in the front seat of an Aston Martin sports saloon which had come to a halt on the grass verge opposite the motel. " Come off it, Old Iron," protested the elegant Sergeant Johnny Lister, who sat behind the steering wheel. " Anybody might think you were looking at the Black Hole of Calcutta. What's the matter with the place, anyway?" " Everything," retorted Cromwell. " Too big—too showy •—too modern. I prefer to spend my fortnight's holiday in a quiet rural inn off the beaten track. I thought I should find something like this when you suggested the trip. I wouldn't stay here if they offered to take me free of charge." " What about the river?" " The river's all right—I'll grant you that," said the chief inspector grudgingly. " Reminds me of one of the reaches of the Thames not far from Windsor." " They say the bream and roach in this river are first-class. Give the place a chance, Old Iron. Look it over before you finally make up your mind." |