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Chapter Eleven-3
RAFFERTY LOOKED AT his watch for the third time in as many minutes. Damn Llewellyn. It was eleven o’clock; he should be back by now. The Welshman had rung yesterday afternoon to say he would have to spend the night in town. Some of the staff at Sir Anthony's London consulting-rooms had left quite recently and he was having trouble tracking them down. But surely there couldn't be that many people employed in one doctor's rooms? Not for the first time in his career, Rafferty cursed his impetuosity. It was rather a pity that he'd given way to the satisfaction of telling Nurse Wright that Smythe hadn't been arrested for murder. She wouldn't have known any different if he'd kept quiet, as Smythe was off duty for a few days and wouldn't have been expected at the hospital in any case. The eleme
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