Of that nightmare scurry along Bruton Street and across Berkeley Square, Donovan's impressions were hazy, except that, aided by the now friendly fog which hemmed them in like a prison wall, it represented, later, a crossing of the borderline; it had swept him from a rather weary world he knew into a world whose existence he had never even suspected, a world of horrors unimagined. At the corner of Charles Street: "Here they are! " breathed Maitland. "Grab my arm. Play up." Then, raising his voice, "I tell you, my man," he shouted, "that you are making a damn fool of yourself. I am a British officer. My business here is urgent ..." "You can either come quietly or have the bracelets on," Donovan replied in a loud gruff voice. Two short, stocky figures had manifested from somewhere, and loomed threateningly just ahead. Donovan pushed Maitland forward. "I warn you, constable," Maitland exclaimed.
Classic Crime Fiction
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