“But direct evidence isn’t easy to get.”
“Nothing that is worth while is easy to get. Our job is to do things that are difficult.”
“That’s all very well, but—”
“But me no buts, inspector. So far from being depressed by this morning’s events, I am greatly encouraged. They fit in exactly with my own view.”
“But, if you don’t believe Winter did it, who do you think did?”
“Come now, inspector. That is a question for the end of the argument, not the beginning. I had at least fully made up my mind, before I knew anything at all of this alibi, that Walter Brooklyn did not do it.”
“What on earth made you think that? Had you some fresh evidence?”
“No, inspector, merely some fresh use of the old evidence. The more I thought about it, the plainer it became that both those sets of clues were deliberately laid by the same person—I mean the murderer. Don’t you see my point?”
“But why did the murderer lay two inconsistent sets of false clues?”
“That, my dear inspector, is the point. He laid them both in the hope that we should see through the one set, and not through the other. Which is just what you have done. He is a clever scoundrel. He meant us to hang Walter Brooklyn.”
“He’s too clever for me, if that’s so. But, supposing you’re right, I don’t see that we are much nearer to finding out who he is.”
The superintendent assumed the air of one instructing a little child, and, as he spoke, ticked off the points on his fingers. “My dear Blaikie, we have to trace the murderer through the false clues which he left. Point number one. Walter Brooklyn’s stick was found in Prinsep’s room. If Walter Brooklyn did not put it there, who did?”
“Dashed if I know,” said the inspector.
“Who could have put it there? Someone must have got it from Walter Brooklyn.”
“He said he left it in a taxi, didn’t he?”
“No, he said he didn’t know where he had left it. It might have been in a taxi, or it might have been in any of the places he visited that afternoon—in Woodman’s office, for example, or in the Piccadilly Theatre. You must find out again exactly where he went, and, if possible, where he did leave the stick. There is just the chance that Prinsep found it and took it up to his room. But I don’t think so. I think it was clearly left on the floor of Prinsep’s room in order that it might serve as a clue to mislead us.”
“I see your point. I’ll find out what I can.”
“Then there’s the telephone message. It is not very difficult to imitate a man’s voice over the telephone; but I doubt if the murderer would have risked it unless he had known the man he was imitating pretty well. He may even have been something of a mimic. The idea of imitating the voice would have occurred to such a man. Find out if there is anyone connected with the Brooklyns who is much of a mimic.”
“Why, old Sir Vernon Brooklyn used to be the finest impersonator in England in his younger days, before he took to serious acting.”
“I was not thinking of him. There may be others. That sort of talent often runs in families.”
“I’ll make inquiries.”
“Now I come to a much more important point. When one man takes elaborate measures to get another hanged, it usually means he has either some violent grudge, or some strong reason for securing the removal of that particular person. If the murderer tried to get Walter Brooklyn hanged, when he might apparently have got away without leaving any clue at all, he must have had either a violent hatred, or, more probably, a very strong motive for wishing Walter Brooklyn out of the way. We have to find out who had such a motive.”
“Motive seems a dangerous line to go on. You remember that Walter Brooklyn had the strongest financial motive for killing his nephews. He gets a pot of the money when Sir Vernon dies.”
“I know he does; but what I want you to find out is who would get the money if Walter Brooklyn were removed. When you found out about the will, did you discover that?”
“No. It seemed quite enough to find out that Brooklyn stood to get it by killing his nephews. So far as I remember, there was nothing in the will to say who would get the money if they all died.”
“That’s a point you must make quite sure of—not merely what is in the will, but who is the next of kin after Walter Brooklyn. It may be the decisive clue.”
“I believe you have some definite suspicion in your mind.”
“My dear inspector, if I have I’m not going to say any more about it just now. You go and find out what I have asked; and then we can talk.”
“I’m to do nothing, then, about Winter?”
“I certainly did not say that. That man Thomas seems to have found out something you had missed. It is your turn to pick up something that has escaped him. Watch the servants at Liskeard House—the maids as well as Winter and Morgan. Keep an eye on the whole household. And meanwhile I will find out all about that girl at Fittleworth. I can have inquiries made locally on the spot.”
“Then you’re inclined to think Winter may have done it?”
“Not at all. There you are jumping to conclusions again. I’m not at all disposed to say anything definite just at present. What we need is further information, and
