Dictator's Way Read Online Free Page A

– and it was understood that he was a kind of sleeping partner in a successful firm, of stockbrokers. His reputation was that of a cautious speculator who understood that the secret of success was to take a small profit quickly, and then, too, he was careful to bet as a rule only on those certainties the Stock Exchange sometimes knows, when a piece of string can be measured before the public is invited to guess its length.
    Altogether, Bobby realized, not at all the kind of man to be mixed up in anything scandalous. After all, nowadays, poker and pretty ladies are rather admired than otherwise, so that he ran no risks of scandal there.
    None the less Bobby felt certain that Waveny really knew or suspected something, was really disturbed, and then he woke from his reverie to see the tailboards of two or three of the buses he had been waiting for disappearing in that friendly cluster in which London buses seem to love to run. Another half-hour to wait, he supposed, and somehow now he did not feel quite in the mood for watching cricket. Besides, Mr. Hammond was disappointingly out, though there was always the possibility that to-day might find in form a gentleman Bobby rather liked to refer to as ‘Patsy’, because once he had been privileged to chat to him for nearly a quarter of an hour (we are all snobs one way or another and the fact may as well be admitted). But then Bobby remembered that Mr. Hendren was not playing in this match and at the same moment a bus bound Epping way drew up.
    The coincidence was marked. Just as well perhaps if by any chance anything came of this odd Waveny affair, and if he were questioned about it, to be able to show he knew the locality. In the C.I.D. one was expected to know everything and be able to answer any question off-hand. Bobby could almost hear Superintendent Ulyett asking his snappy questions: ‘Dictator’s Way, eh? exact position? length? often used? kind of surface? gates to it? lined by a hedge or what? overlooked at all? nearest houses?’ And so on. Nice to be able to return equally snappy replies.
    A little surprised by the fact, Bobby found himself completing these meditations on the top of the Epping- bound bus. So he lighted a cigarette and devoted himself to surveying with a lazy interest the ever-varying and picturesque panorama of the London streets. It all had its interest for Bobby, often from a professional point of view. There, for instance, stood young Tommy Breeze, eldest son of Sir Thomas Breeze, Bart, (of the first creation), and destined therefore to be Sir Thomas himself some day. Just released from Hendon he was directing traffic at a busy corner and making heavy weather of it, too. And there a little further on was fat old Simmonds, doing the same job with the effortless ease born of twenty years’ experience. Bobby waved to Simmonds and as he did so a cultured, drawling, B.B.C. voice hailed him by name. Looking round, Bobby recognized Jimmy Hardwick, expert hotel thief, just released after serving nine months’ hard. He seemed quite pleased to see Bobby, passed on a hot tip for to-morrow’s three o’clock, and then alighted after further pleasant chat.
    â€œWonder what he’s been up to,” Bobby said to himself, and, watching from the top of the bus as it waited for the traffic lights, he saw Mr. Hardwick join Mr. Mullins, a well-known receiver. Probably then Mr. Hardwick had had a good day, and somewhere or another an hotel manager was protesting to an agitated and tearful lady that the hotel was not responsible for jewellery left in an unlocked bedroom.
    â€œMight have been worth while,” Bobby thought lazily, “going through his pockets, only most likely someone else had the swag.”
    Arrived at his destination, Bobby’s first thought was for tea. He sought it in an adjacent public-house where a large notice proclaimed ‘Teas served in the garden’. It was tea apparently intended to