For a long time nothing happened.
Henrietta switched lights on and off according to Sloan's bidding—kitchen first, then hall, ten minutes later the bathroom, and finally the bedroom one. Then, fully dressed, she crept downstairs again.
'Please, miss,' pleaded Sloan, 'won't you go and lie down in the spare room? If anything happens to you I shall be in for the high jump.'
'What's going to happen?' she asked.
'I don't know,' he said truthfully, 'but we're dealing with a confirmed murderer.'
'Inspector…' Henrietta found it easier to talk in the dark. She had the feeling that she was alone with Sloan though she knew Constable Crosby was in the next room and P. C. Hepple in the kitchen and heaven knew who outside. 'Inspector, do you know now who I am?'
'Yes, miss, I think so. We'll have to check with Somerset House in the morning but…'
'Who?' she asked directly.
'Henrietta Mantriot.'
'Mantriot.' She tested out the sound, tentative as a bride with a new surname. 'Henrietta Eleanor Leslie Mantriot.'
'Your mother…' began Sloan.
'Yes?' There was a sudden constriction in her voice.
'We think she was called Eleanor Leslie. The spelling of Leslie ought to have given us a clue.'
'I've often wondered,' she remarked, 'where those names came from.'
'She's been dead a long time,' volunteered Sloan.
This did not seem to disturb the girl. 'I knew she must have been,' she said, 'otherwise Grace Jenkins wouldn't have…'
'No.'
'And my father, Inspector?'
'Your father, miss, we think was a certain Captain Hugo Mantriot.'
'Master Hugo!' she cried. 'Shhhhhsh, miss. We must be very quiet now.'
'I'm sorry,' she said contritely. 'I was always hearing about Master Hugo. I never dreamt that…'
'Now you know why, miss.' Sloan heard Crosby's whisper before Henrietta did and he was on his feet and out in the hall in a flash.
'Someone coming down the Belling road, sir.'
'Upstairs,' commanded Sloan. 'Quickly. You too, miss.'
In the end he went up with her and stood at the landing window. Together they watched someone approach the cottage on foot, slide open the gate and disappear behind some bushes in the garden.
'He's not coming in,' whispered Henrietta.
'Not yet,' murmured Sloan. 'Give him time. He's waiting to see if the coast's clear.' He withdrew from the window and passed the word down to Crosby and Hepple to be very quiet now.
It was quite still inside Boundary Cottage. The next move was a complete surprise to everyone. Constable Crosby's hoarse whisper reached Sloan and Henon the front upstairs landing.
'There's someone else, sir.'
'Where?'
'Coming down the Belling road.'
The visitor did not pause in the garden. He came straight up to the front door.
'Inspector,' said Henrietta. 'Look! The man in the garden. He's following the other one in.'
Sloan did not stay to reply. He moved back to the head of the stairs and waited there, watching the front door open.
'He's got a key,' breathed Henrietta, hearing it being inserted into the lock.
'Shssshhhhh,' cautioned Sloan. 'Don't speak now.'
The front door opened soundlessly and someone came in. Whoever it was moved forward and then turned to shut the door behind him.
Only it wouldn't shut.
And it wouldn't shut for a time-honoured reason. There was someone else's foot in it.
Someone pushed from the inside and someone else pushed from the outside. The outside pusher must have been the stronger of the two for in the end the door opened wide enough to admit him.
Henrietta recognised the silhouette dimly outlined against the night sky and framed by the doorway. She clutched the banister rail for support. No wonder he had got the door opened in spite of the other man. Bill Thorpe was the strongest man she knew.
Bill Thorpe was apparently not content with having got the door open. He now advanced upon the other man, flinging himself against him. There was a surprised grunt, followed by a muffled oath. Then a different sound, the sudden ripping of cloth. In the darkness it sounded like a pistol shot.
It was enough for Detective Inspector Sloan.
He switched on the lights.
'The police!' cried a somewhat dishevelled Felix Arbican. 'Thank God for that. I caught this young man breaking into…'
'Felix Forrest Arbican,' said Sloan lawfully from half way up the stairs, 'I arrest you for the murder of Cyril Edgar Jenkins and must warn you that anything you say may be…'
'Thank you,' retorted the solicitor coldly, 'I am aware of the formula.'
CHAPTER NINETEEN
'Yes, sir.' Sloan was sitting in the Superintendent's office the next morning, turning in his report.
'What put you on to him in the beginning, Sloan?'
'It was the very first time we saw him, sir. I asked him if he knew of a client called Mrs. G. E. Jenkins and he said no.'
'And?'
'And in the same interview he referred to her as Grace Jenkins though neither Crosby nor I had mentioned her Christian name, so I reckoned he knew her all right.'
Leeyes grunted. 'Stroke of bad luck that Hibbs fellow keeping his letter all those years.'
'Yes and no, sir. He'd written it a bit ambiguously at the time—it could indicate a settlement like he said if you cared to look at it that way, so it could have been said to have served his case as well.' He paused. 'I think he would know that an agent would file it, too. Besides…'
'Besides what?'
'It was a sort of insurance, sir. If we should get hold of it, it would bring him into the picture and keep him in touch in a rather privileged way, wouldn't it?'
Leeyes grunted again.
'That's why I told the girl about him early on,' said Sloan temerariously.
'You did what?'
'Sort of hinted that he was her motherts solicitor and so…' Sloan waved a hand and left the sentence unfinished.
'Suppose,' suggested Leeyes heavily, 'we go back to the very beginning.'
'The last war,' said Sloan promptly. 'A promising young officer in the East Calleshires called Hugo Mantriot of Great Rooden Manor…'
'Where's that?'
'Just south of Calleford.' Sloan resumed his narrative. 'This Hugo Mantriot marries the only daughter of the late Bruce Leslie…'
'Who's he?'
