Inspector Armadale’s figure appeared from one of the corridors, and, catching sight of Sir Clinton, he came over to where they were standing. His face showed that he had good news to tell.
“I’ve got practically the whole business out of them, sir. Billingford gave everything away that he knew about; and the other chap’s nerve was completely gone, so that he couldn’t resist questioning. It’s as clear a case as one could wish for.”
He paused, as though puzzled by something, and then added:
“It beats me how you tumbled to the fact that Cargill was one of the gang, though.”
Sir Clinton ignored the underlying inquiry.
“Was he the brains of the show?” he asked. “I’ve only a suspicion to go on there.”
“Yes, he did the planning for them.”
“And the gentleman with no face collaborated with Aird in the actual murders? That’s a guess, I may say, so far as the Staveley affair’s concerned, though I’m fairly sure of my ground in the other cases.”
“You’re right in that case too, sir. Aird and the impostor fellow were the actual murderers. Aird’ll hang for certain.”
“It’ll make a very nice case for you, inspector; and I’m sure you’ll work it up well for the Public Prosecutor. I can seen a laurel wreath somewhere in the background.”
“But it’s you who did most of it, sir. Nobody understands that better than I do,” the inspector objected, evidently afraid lest Sir Clinton thought him capable of accepting the credit without protest.
“I came into the thing on a strict understanding that I was to be a pure spectator, you remember. I’m afraid that at times I got a shade too zealous, perhaps; but it’s your case and not mine. If we’d made a mess of it between us, you’d have had to stand the racket; so obviously a success goes down to your account. The subject’s closed.”
Wendover, seeing the inspector’s difficulty in framing a suitable reply to this, intervened to change the subject.
“I see the main outlines of the affair easily enough, Clinton,” he said, “but I’d like to hear just how you worked it out as you went along. Any objections to telling me? It’ll go no farther, of course.”
The chief constable’s face betrayed a tinge of boredom.
“You’ve lived with this case for the best part of a week. Haven’t you had enough of it by this time?”
Wendover persisted in his demand; but Sir Clinton, instead of complying, glanced at his watch.
“There’s one detective story I’m very fond of, squire: The Hunting of the Snark. I rank it high in the scale, especially on account of the number of apt quotations one can make from it. Here’s one:
The method employed I would gladly explain
While I have it so clear in my head,
If I had but the time and you had but the brain—
But much yet remains to be said.
It’s far too late to start a long story tonight. I’m dead sleepy. If you remind me about it tomorrow, I’ll do my best; but I will not sit up all night even to please you.”
The inspector seemed as much disappointed as Wendover at his superior’s decision.
“I’d like to hear it too, sir, if you don’t mind.”
Sir Clinton suppressed a yawn with difficulty.
“I don’t mind, inspector. Meet us at Neptune’s Seat at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. It’ll be interesting to hear how far wrong I’ve gone in some of my guesses; and you can tell me that, since you’ve got so much out of these two precious scoundrels tonight. And now I’ll drive you into Lynden Sands—save you the trudge. After that I really must get to bed.”
XVII
The Threads in the Case
“This hasn’t been a tidy case, in the strict meaning of the words,” Sir Clinton mused, as he chose a comfortable spot on Neptune’s Seat and settled down on it. “It’s really an omnium gatherum. It began long before we appeared on the scene; and the inspector has the facts about the earlier stages, whilst I’ve nothing better than guesswork.”
“What we’re interested in, chiefly, is what you thought about it at different stages in the game,” Wendover pointed out. “If you start with the Peter Hay case and go on from there, you can tell us what you saw and what we missed. And at the tail end you can give us your guesses about the earlier stage. The inspector can check them from the confessions he got.”
Sir Clinton agreed with a gesture, and began without more ado. It was evident that he was by no means eager to recapitulate, and was doing so merely out of good nature.
“The Peter Hay case was crystal clear so far as one side was concerned. It required no marvellous insight to see what had happened. It wasn’t by any possibility a one-man murder. At least two men must have been on the spot to overpower Peter and tie him up. They—or at least one of them—was a better-class fellow, or Peter Hay would have been in his shirtsleeves instead of having his jacket on. And the jacket implied that he knew they were coming that evening, too. Further, the fact that they had amyl nitrite ready in their pockets is enough to prove two things. They weren’t casual strangers, for they knew about his liability to cerebral congestion. And they premeditated killing him in certain circumstances. We worked out pretty definitely the course of events which led to his death, so I needn’t go over that again. I suppose we were right in the main points, inspector?”
Armadale, primed with the information he had extracted from Aird, was able to confirm this.
“They used surgical bandages because they hoped to leave no marks on the skin, I suppose?” Sir Clinton inquired.
“That was the idea, Aird admitted, sir. He thought they’d succeeded, and he was surprised to find they’d made a mess of it.”
Sir Clinton smiled, apparently at the thought of Aird’s discomfiture.
“Well, if they bungled one side of the affair, they
