CHAPTER VI
A CRYING THROUGH THE SILENCE
GARTH the next day did not repeat his floral indiscretion. One experience had convinced him that practice is necessary to the successful threading of such by-ways. His rose, in fact, had disclosed its limitations even before he had reached the inspector's flat. On his entrance it had not adorned his coat.
He read the brief and scarcely illuminating account of the Elmford murder in the morning papers. Irritation at his own assignment—an unimportant case up-town—let it slip through his mind without arousing any exceptional interest.
When he returned to the central office in the afternoon the doorman beckoned to him.
"Inspector's been asking after you."
Garth yawned.
"All right. Tell him I'm here, Ed."
After a moment the doorman called:
"Inspector says, walk in."
Garth went, and paused, ill-at-ease, just within the doorway.
The huge man lolled in his chair. His quiet eyes fixed Garth genially. For once he failed to fidget
