We do good work.” Barnes nodded grimly. “Bunchurch did good work, too.” “Well, not very good work,” George put in. “He was actually a bit useless, wasn’t he?” “That’s not the point!” The inspector gave a sudden roar. He banged a hairy fist on the tabletop, making his cup jerk in its saucer. A gout of strong dark tea splashed across his plate. “That’s not the point! He crossed them, and he’s dead!”
PAPA BARNES
