Explore "The Case of the Black Twenty-Two" by Brian Flynn on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Peter Daventry glanced at the clock on Paddington platform. He saw with undisguised relief that he was a good quarter of an hour to the good. "Curse this beastly wrist-watch," he muttered to himself-"it gets worse every day-fairly put the wind up me that time. " He walked to the platform indicator-digested the information thereon applicable to the 6: 55-"Didcot, Wantage Rd., Assynton"-and drifted over to the appropriate platform. Arrived there, he scanned the horizon for Anthony Bathurst. The platform was pretty crowded and he could not see the man he wanted. It was unlike Bathurst to arrive at 6: 45 for 6: 55. He argued that it was a sheer waste of very valuable minutes. Daventry commenced his second tour up the platform when a voice at his shoulder jolted his equilibrium and suddenly brought him to a standstill.
"Good evening, Mr. Daventry. " Detective-Inspector Goodall smiled genially and extended what looked like an amicable hand. "Going to try the Berkshire air?"