Paradise for a Punter The big man reading the newspaper gave a loud snort of derision. Mr. Rogers looked up from his card with some irritation. If the man must read, surely he could do it quietly, and not disturb people who were trying to concentrate. In any case, why read the paper here? This was a racecourse, not a library.
There must have been some magnetic quality in his accusing glare for the offender turned. The eyes of the two men met. By rights, that was all that should have happened. But the big man’s eyes, flickering over Mr. Rogers, narrowed. Then—he smiled. It was a sardonic smile, and again Mr. Rogers heard the mocking sound which had evoked his annoyance. But now it was directed at him personally, and he drew back, feeling uneasy.
The smile on the big man’s thick lips deepened. “I used to be on the force,” he rumbled. He nodded his grim head. “I can still pick them out.”
. . .
