Free The Bath Mysteries by E.R. Punshon

behind his glasses were bright and alert, and his every movement had a quality of swift unexpectedness that was at times even a little disconcerting, as though one could never be quite sure of his exact position. The only real sign he gave of advancing years was that his hair, dark and of unusually strong and vigorous growth, was beginning to show just a touch of grey at the temples; but, then, that is often the case with men at a comparatively early age. He was clean-shaven, a bluish tinge on the square, forward-thrusting chin suggesting that the growth of his beard, if permitted, would have been as strong and luxuriant as that of his hair. At the moment Bobby entered he was helping himself to a cigarette from the open box on the table, his hand flashing in and out with the quickness of gesture that seemed habitual to him. As he lighted the cigarette he gave Bobby a quick, all-embracing glance that seemed to take him in from top to toe, and then, as if satisfied that the newcomer was one whose existence could be recognized, he remarked:
    â€œThese City lads do themselves pretty well. I smoke this Regie* brand myself, but they come a bit high, and I don’t know that I should leave them about in my study for everyone who blew in to help himself as he liked.”

CHAPTER 7
A DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
    Bobby glanced at the cigarettes and saw that they were in fact the somewhat expensive brand mentioned. The fact interested him, for, taken together with the comfortable, even luxurious, manner in which the room was furnished, it suggested that the Berry, Quick Syndicate was in no way short of capital. And yet according to the caretaker they did hardly any business and their references had not been of a nature to make the managers of the building very anxious to accept them as tenants. Indeed, had not tenants grown so scarce and rare a species, they would apparently have been politely refused accommodation. Facts to be remembered, Bobby thought, and, looking up, saw with surprise that his companion was now at one of the windows, enjoying the cigarette to which he had just helped himself and staring idly down at the busy street below.
    He had moved so softly and so swiftly, with so strange a lightness of action, that Bobby had been quite unaware of it, and had thought him still standing by the table. Elderly he might be, certainly was, for age cannot wholly be disguised, but equally certainly he was still nimble as the nimblest of youths, and with no trace of that awkwardness that even nimble youths still show before they have acquired full control of their own limbs. Bobby wondered if he had been an athlete – a lightweight boxer perhaps – or it might be a dancing expert, and so had acquired that swift certainty of balance and of movement he seemed to possess. 
    All at once he began to laugh, a soft, rather musical laughter that gave the impression of being as entirely under control as were his bodily movements. He took off his glasses as if without them he could see better at a distance. He said:
    "Jove, nearly got her.” To explain his amusement, he added to Bobby: “Dear old lady scuttling across the road, and a car missed her by inches. Anyhow, the motor age is teaching the aged to leap.”
    â€œYes,” agreed Bobby, who knew too much about the statistics of the dead and injured on the roads, that Scotland Yard compiled each week, to regard any aspect of the subject as in any way amusing. “I think I’ll have one of these,” he added, helping himself to a cigarette.
    â€œWhy not?” said the other, and, when Bobby looked up again, he had left the window and was lolling in one of the armchairs. Once more he had shifted his position with such lightness and soft rapidity of action that Bobby had been aware of no movement, heard no sound. “After all, I suppose it’s mugs like us who pay for them. But I beg your pardon. Very likely you aren’t one of the great army of