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Burchill, he was certain, knew more than he had given him credit for, knew something, perhaps, about the actual murder. He was a deep, crafty dog, Burchill only let the police find him! Time was up, then, and Peggie and Selwood had to go their last impression that of Barthorpe thrusting his hands in his pockets and lounging away to his enforced idleness.
"That's probable it may be certain," said the Professor. "Nevertheless, he may be here. And Burchill may be looking for him, too. Now, if Dimambro stopped two days at that Hotel Ravenna, from November 11th to 13th, there must be somebody who knows something of him. We must you must make more inquiry there at the hotel. Talk quietly to that manager or the servants. Get a description of him.
Davidge rubbed his chin with affected indifference. "Oh, well, you can put it down at something like that, if you like, Mr. Burchill," he answered. "You're a very clever young fellow, and I dare say you're as well aware of what the law about accessories is as I am. 'Tisn't necessary for a party to a murder to be actually present at the execution of the crime, sir no!
Burchill threw the burnt-out match into the fire. "The will," he said slowly, "will be about as valuable as that when I've fixed things up with you. Valueless!" "You mean it?" exclaimed Barthorpe incredulously. "Then your signature?" "Look here!" said Burchill. "The only thing between us is terms! Fix up terms with me, and I'll tell you the whole truth. And then you'll see!"
"Barthorpe Herapath is in touch with Burchill. The dead man's nephew and the dead man's ex-secretary um! Putting their heads together about what?" He was still pondering this question when he reached the office and found a note from Carver who wanted to see him at once. Triffitt went round to the Magnet and got speech with Carver in a quiet corner. Carver went straight to his point.
"Not the slightest!" exclaimed Barthorpe. "Have you?" "None! Of course the police are on the go?" "Oh, of course!" "All right," said Burchill. "Tonight, then." He opened the door for his visitor, nodded to him, as he passed out, and when he had gone sat down in the easy chair which Barthorpe had vacated and for half an hour sat immobile, thinking.
This fact was not unpleasing to Triffitt; it argued that he would have small difficulty in finding a lodgment within the walls which sheltered the man he wanted to watch. And in pursuance of his scheme, which, as a beginning, was to find out exactly where Burchill was located, he walked into the main entrance and looked about him, hoping to find an address-board.
He folded it over, laid it, so folded, on that desk, and signed his name. Then we both signed it in the blank spaces which he indicated: I first, then Burchill. He then put it into an envelope that envelope and fastened it up. As regards that part of the proceedings," said Mr. Tertius, "that is all." "There was, then, another part?" suggested Mr. Halfpenny. "Yes," replied Mr. Tertius. "There was.
"I'm much more concerned being a believer in present necessities in hearing what you've got to say to me now that you've brought me here," answered Barthorpe, coolly. "What is it?" "Oh, I've a lot to say," replied Burchill. "Quite a lot. But you'll have to let me say it in my own fashion. And to start with, I want to ask you a few questions. About your family history, for instance."
The police say that Jacob Herapath came to his death as the result of a conspiracy between his nephew Barthorpe Herapath and Frank Burchill.
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