no message for Thackeray, though, getting on in years, of course, and not particularly inspired, but surely worth a lift in rank towards the close of a dutiful career.
The wait outside Jowett’s office had been unusually prolonged. It was nearly twelve when the Inspector came out with three other people. “Ah, Sergeant Cribb! Good gracious, I’ve kept you waiting. Don’t look so concerned, though. Merely wanted to thank you for your stout efforts on the Vibart inquiry. You’ll be pleased to hear, I know, that I’ve managed to convince my superiors that a case like that merits promotion for someone. That’s why Jago came in this morning. It’s
Must be away, then. Have a word with my sergeant before you go, will you? I want you to confirm that our count of crimes in your area is accurate.”
. . Count of crimes! Cribb looked up from his drink and regarded the engraving on the wall above him: “. . 302 rats in one hour at the Hare and Billet, Wimbledon, 7th May, 1863.” For some seconds he eyed the bull terrier, Leamington. Then he emptied his glass and went home.
