“I apologize,” said Eames. “I apologize to Mr. Pulteney unreservedly. I will form no more judgments of character. You may tell me that Mrs. Davis is a murderess, if you will, and I will discuss the proposition on its merits.”
“Talking of which,” said Angela, “the cream of the situation is that we still don’t know who it was that was rubbering behind that beastly mill-house.”
“Oh, as to that,” said Eames diffidently, “I’ve felt fairly certain about that all along. I suppose it’s the result of living with priests that one becomes thus worldly wise. But didn’t you know, Mr. Bredon, that maids always steal their masters’ cigarettes? It is, I believe, a more or less recognized form of perquisite. Every liberty taken by the rich is aped by their domestics. And, although she is not in household service, I have no doubt that the barmaid here claims a like privilege.”
“Do you mean—” began Bredon:
“You noticed, surely, that her fingers are a little stained with brown? I noticed it when she brought in my fried eggs. Ladies generally have expensive tastes in cigarettes, and I have no doubt that this maid would go for the Callipoli if she got a chance.”
“Miles, dear,” said Angela softly, “who was it said that it must be a servant who was listening at our bedroom door?”
“The uneducated do not take Mr. Pulteney’s view about curiosity. I daresay this young lady often listens at keyholes. With a corpse in the house, and detectives about, she listens with all the more avidity. And if the detectives insist on exchanging confidences close to that precise point in the shrubbery at which she is in the habit of smoking purloined cigarettes, they put themselves in her hands. But a stronger motive supervenes; what she overhears out of pure curiosity turns out to be of vital importance to herself. She learns that the young man she is walking out with is suspected of murder.”
“Good Lord, and of course it was she who reacted on our suggestions, not Brinkman! I don’t know if I mentioned it to you, Angela, but when Leyland and I were talking together at the mill-house, he said the only thing that would make him hesitate to arrest Simmonds would be evidence showing that Simmonds knew he wasn’t Mottram’s heir. And it was exactly that evidence which ‘Raight-ho’ proceeded to produce.”
“Oh,” cried Angela, “How perfectly odious! You mean that when I thought I was pumping Emmeline so cleverly, and getting out of her exactly what I wanted, she was really doing it all on purpose, and telling me exactly what she wanted?”
“I’m afraid so, my dear. A lot of reputations seem to be going west today. And, of course, I should say it’s odds that her whole story was absolutely trumped up, invented to suit the occasion. And we’re back exactly where we were, not knowing whether Simmonds knew he was cut out of the will or not.”
“On the other hand,” said Angela, “we do know, now, what put the wind up young Simmonds so badly. When you and Leyland passed him and Emmeline in the lane last night, she was telling him that he was suspected of murder, and had better be dashed careful what he said and who he said it to. Naturally it gave him a bit of a fright when he thought you were going to pump him about his uncle.”
“And meanwhile, what has Brinkman been up to? We’ve really no evidence against him until all this about the car cropped up. Dash it all, and just when I was going to get a game of patience!”
“I don’t want to put my oar in unduly,” said the old gentleman in an apologetic tone, “but might it not be a good thing to acquaint Mr. Leyland with the somewhat unusual state of affairs down at the garage? If Brinkman really intends to do what is popularly known as a ‘bunk,’ he may be off at any moment. Had I been more expert, I could no doubt have immobilized some important part of the mechanism. As it was, I was helpless.”
“Where is Leyland, by the way?” asked Bredon.
“He is just coming up the street now,” said Eames, looking out of the window. “I’ll call to him to come in here.”
“Hullo, what have you been up to?” asked Bredon, as Leyland entered.
“Why, to tell the truth, I have been shadowing Mr. Pulteney. I must apologize, Mr. Pulteney, but I felt bound to be careful. I’ve had you kept under close observation all this week; and it was only as I stood behind the door, watching your investigations into that car, that I became perfectly convinced of your innocence.”
“What! more suspicion! This is indeed a day! Why, if I had had the least conception that you were watching me, Mr. Leyland, I would have led you a rare dance! My movements, I promise you, should have been full of mystery. I should have gone out every night with a scowl and a dark lantern. I am overwhelmed.”
“Well, I must apologize at least for spying upon your detective work. You do very well for an amateur, Mr. Pulteney, but you are not suspicious enough.”
“Indeed! I overlooked something? How mortifying!”
“Yes, when you took the cushion off that front seat, you failed to observe that there was a neat tear in it, which had been quite recently sewn up. Otherwise I am sure that you would have done what I did just now—cut it open.”
“And is it fair to ask what you found inside?”
“Well, we seem
