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"IT'S darned awful that ghastly things like this could go on with impunity. What the heck's the world coming to, Frampton ? Tell me that. You're the 'wise guy.' The 'one man who knows everything.' 'The blue-eyed sleuth who never makes a mistake.' Well, get cracking now. You've got a devil of a lot to bite on. Get on— or get out! " Chief-inspector Mayne, of the "Great and Glorious," stalked the length of his floor, oblivious to everything save the man who stood calmly inside the door of the office. Outside, the traffic whimpered up and down the Thames Embankment. Inside the office the silence was startling. Mayne stopped dead and stared at Frampton. Frampton was staring into space, blank amazement on his features. "Well, struck dumb ? As a rule you've got plenty to say. Silence doesn't suit you." Andrew Frampton shivered faintly. Blinked. Swallowed. "That's it, sir," he said in a low voice. "Struck dumb, . . . Was that why you sent your clerk from the office?" "Was what why ?" |