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Updated: June 1, 2025
"I've heard that he was a bad-tempered man." "He was the most unpleasant brute I ever came across in my life," said Mr. Manley with heartfelt conviction. "Then he had enemies?" said Mr. Flexen. "Scores, I should think. But, of course, I don't know. Only I can't conceive his having had a friend," said Mr. Manley in a tone of some bitterness.
Again, he asked himself, had either of them murdered Lord Loudwater to save the other? At any rate, they knew who had committed the murder. Of that he was sure. Could they be shielding a third person? If so, who was that third person? Mr. Flexen sat pondering this question of a third person for a good twenty minutes. It could not be Hutchings.
Flexen felt that he had before him an important witness, for he took a violent dislike to him, and he had observed, in the course of his many years' experience in the detection of crime, that the most important witness in hounding down a criminal was very often of a repulsive type, the nark type. William Roper was of that type, but his story was indeed startling.
Douglas on the Daily Planet were dealing with the case in a half-hearted manner, though they were still clamouring with some vivacity for the mysterious woman. As Mr. Flexen came out of the park gates he met William Roper on the edge of the West wood, stopped the car, and walked a few yards down the road to talk to him out of hearing of the chauffeur.
Three months later, on the first night of Mr. Manley's play, Colonel Grey came upon Mr. Flexen in the lounge of the Haymarket, between the second and third acts. Both of them praised the play warmly, and there came a pause. Then Colonel Grey said: "I suppose you've given up all hope of solving the problem of Loudwater's death." "Oh, I solved it three months ago. It was Manley," said Mr. Flexen.
Flexen decided that he must have more information about Colonel Grey, that he would get into touch with him, and that soon. He had information about him sooner than he expected and without seeking it. Inspector Perkins was awaiting him, with Mrs. Turnbull, the landlady of the "Cart and Horses."
"Oh, this didn't happen in the country, sir not in this part of the country, anyhow. It must have been a London woman," said Hutchings with conviction. "If she'd lived about here, I must have heard about it." "It was a lady, you must know. The papers do not bring that fact out. My informant is quite sure that it was a lady," said Mr. Flexen. "That's no 'elp, sir," said Hutchings despondently.
Flexen had a strong impression that Colonel Grey was unused to being as expansive as this, that he was talking for talking's sake, possibly to put him off asking some question which would be difficult or dangerous to answer. He could not for the life of him think what that question could be. "I daresay you're right," he said carelessly. "Bullies aren't over-fond of a real scrap.
Instead of making it she said: "Of course, he did seem frightfully upset." "But you don't think that he was sufficiently upset to do himself an injury?" said Mr. Flexen. Olivia had formed a strong impression that her husband would not in any circumstance do himself an injury; it was his part to injure others. But she said: "I can't say. He might have gone on working himself up all the evening.
Flexen questioned Holloway at length, and learned that James Hatchings was a man of uncommonly violent temper; that it had been a matter of debate in the servants' hall whether his furies or those of their dead master were the worse. Then he dismissed Holloway, and sent for Jane Pittaway. A small, sharp-eyed, sharp-featured young woman, she was quite clear in her story.
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