“Who?”
“The man in the punt. He wasn’t far off when the thing happened. He had only to cut across by land, and he could overtake a canoe that was being slackly paddled, or wasn’t being paddled at all. He could get back to his punt, and go on upstream, looking as innocent as you please. I say, then, that (though there’s nothing to implicate him directly) he’s a possible suspect. And meanwhile his movements ought to be traceable. He must have hired the punt somewhere to start with; he must have left it somewhere, or else be still in it, probably somewhere upstream. It’s surely worth finding out who he is.”
It was at this point that their conversation was interrupted by Mr. Quirk. How long he might have been listening to them was not apparent; he moved softly over the grass, and seemed to be interested in the view as he walked. But it was plainly with a purpose that he approached them; and, with the candour which makes for the American people most of its friends and all its enemies, he plunged at once into business.
“See here, gentlemen,” he said, “you don’t need to tell me that you’re both on the Burtell stunt. Now, I’m very much interested in the Burtell stunt myself. And I’ve none of your advantages; I only know what I read in the newspapers, and I guess what’s printed in the newspapers is just about what you want known. But, see here, I’ve a proposition to make to you which I’d like you to consider. I may not be up to all your dodges this side, but I hold my A1 Sleuth certificate from the Detective Society of America, and I do try very humbly to follow in the footsteps of your great Holmes. And my proposition is this: if I can lay my finger on a point in this case which you gentlemen, with all your wonderful advantages, haven’t yet noticed—an important point, mark you, that may put you on the right track—then you gentlemen will let me work in with you to find this Burtell. It would give me very great pleasure to be associated with you in your researches, and of course, if this gentleman here is connected with the police, I don’t want him to spill any secrets to me that the Force might not want spilled. That’s only reasonable. All I want is to get a pointer from you now and again, so that we can have a common policy, and our researches shan’t overlap. Now, I don’t know what you’re going to say; I dare say you’re wanting to kick me downstairs for my confounded impertinence; but if you’ve got any use for me, here I am.”
“I’m on, so far as I’m concerned,” replied Bredon. “But then, thank God, I’m a free agent. What do you say, Leyland?”
“Well, I’m not a free agent. But I don’t mind giving Mr. Quirk pointers, as he calls them, when I think he’s on a wrong track, if he really has got something to contribute to the clearing up of all this business, and is prepared to prove it now. It’s not a case for bargaining, Mr. Quirk. If you can really put us on the track of something, here and now, then I shall believe that you’re a man worth having on my side, and I shall be prepared to keep you there.”
“Well, I guess I’ll have to be content with that. Mind you, I’m not saying that this fact is an important fact; I can’t just relate it to the other facts of the case; and there, you see, you have the pull on me, knowing more of them. But let me put it to you just like this: What proof have you that Derek Burtell slept at Millington Bridge last Sunday night, the night before he kind of disappeared?”
“But why on earth not?” expostulated Bredon.
“That’s what I can’t say, why not; I only ask whether he did.”
“But I mean, what earthly reason is there for doubting that he did?”
“Well, I hope Mrs. Bredon hasn’t been indiscreet, but she was telling me these Burtell cousins didn’t seem to have been any too fond of each other. And she said the landlady at Millington Bridge told her that they didn’t come to the inn together, those two, and didn’t breakfast together, and didn’t leave together. Now, in the States we pay a good deal of attention to the problem of human testimony; and some of our greatest speculators in that line have pointed out that an uneducated person will always pass inference for fact. Now, supposing that the same man came up to the hotel twice in the same night, pretending to be a different man the second time, isn’t it likely she would say two strangers came to her inn to spend the night? What we don’t know is that she ever saw the two strangers together.”
“Bredon,” said Leyland, “I believe it’s worth looking into this. Couldn’t we go over and examine that landlady again?”
“Rather. Let’s have some luncheon first, though. I’m hanged if I see what it all means, if this turns out to be true, but it’s certainly worth trying.”
The landlady was thoroughly flustered by the appearance of a police inspector, and became more garrulous than ever. Leyland began by demanding the production of the hotel register, which put the poor old lady in the wrong from the first, because, like most country innkeepers, she had failed to keep any register since the War. Yes, it would have been about ten o’clock the first gentleman came, and it was quite dark there at the door, so she didn’t take much notice of what he looked like; she thought he was a nice-looking young gentleman, held himself very straight, and talked in a slow voice, very drawling and easy.
“That’s Nigel all right,” said Bredon. “And he had no camera with him?”
The landlady hadn’t thought to look. He
