“Good to see you all enjoying yourselves,” he said heartily. “Can’t stay but I thought I’d just pop over and say hello.” He nodded in the direction of his table and continued, “We’re entertaining His Honour Judge Fenton-Smythe and his wife. He’s speaking at the lodge meeting tomorrow.”
Inspector Hartley smiled affably. So did Khan but neither of them offered any small-talk to their boss, who made some more chit-chat then ran out of steam. But before he left he button-holed Hartley. “His Honour has heard all about you, Hartley. Word’s got round how well you handled that El Tuban business. Special Branch were very impressed. The Chief Constable has put you in for a commendation.” He paused to give Hartley time to reply, but the inspector mumbled something about only doing his duty.
Donaldson drew closer so the others couldn’t hear. “You know Hartley, if you played your cards right you could be in line for that new C.I. post that’s come up at Bradford,” he whispered confidentially.
Inspector Hartley smiled again. “It’s kind of you to say that, but you know what they say, sir,” he whispered back.
“What?” asked Donaldson, puzzled.
“That Keighworth’s the crematorium of ambition. Mine burned to ashes years ago,” Hartley replied.
Donaldson scurried back to his guests. His Honour was nodding brightly in Hartley’s direction, so the inspector nodded brightly back. Then he turned to his friends and enjoyed the rest of his malt. The priests of old at the Silent Inn had their well-kept secrets, and Blake Hartley had his.
1 The Museum Mystery Page 22