Marlowe Lobbett was becoming used to these lightning changes of mood. He nodded, his shrewd dark eyes fixed upon the spectacles which hid Mr Campion’s seriousness from him. ‘Simister.’ He spoke the word so softly that it sounded like a whisper. Mr Campion was silent for some moments, and Marlowe Lobbett suddenly leaned forward in his chair. ‘Mr Campion,’ he said, ‘can you tell me about this man Simister? What is he? A gangster? A master crook? Is he a single personality at all? In New York they say his records go b…
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