Explore "The Black Gang" by H.C. McNeile on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Hugh Drummond strolled slowly along Whitehall in the direction of Trafalgar Square. His face wore its habitual look of vacuous good humour, and at intervals he hummed a little tune under his breath. It was outside the Carlton that he paused as a car drew up by his side, and a man and a girl got out.
"Algy, my dear old boy," he murmured, taking off his hat, "are we in health today?"