‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. Looking sullen, he released the handle and sat back. Perhaps I ought to have let you order the dinner, but I think I got through it pretty well. ‘That is good. Murder, I say, has been done! Another murder will be committed if you don't prevent it.
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