Sucks books

Picking his way past the fishing
pools and regarding the frowning cliffs and wide spaces of the
quarry under a mournful mist, Mark proceeded to the aperture at the
farther end. Then he left the rill which ran out from this exit and
soon stood by the bungalow. It was now the dinner hour. Half a
dozen masons and carpenters were eating their meal in a wooden shed
near the building and with them sat two constables and their
superior officer.
Inspector Halfyard rose as Brendon appeared, came forward, and shook
hands.
"Lucky you was on the spot, my dear," he said in his homely Devon
way. "Not that it begins to look as if there was anything here deep
enough to ask for your cleverness."
Inspector Halfyard stood six feet high and had curiously broad,
square shoulders; but his imposing torso was ill supported. His legs
were very thin and long, and they turned out a trifle. With his
prominent nose, small head, and bright little slate-grey eyes, he
looked rather like a stork. He was rheumatic, too, and walked
stiffly.


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