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Manderton, quitted Robin Greve's chambers in the Temple, leaving his friend and the detective alone together. To tell the truth, Bruce Wright was in no mood for facing the provincial gloom of a wet Sunday evening in London, nor did he find alluring the prospect of a suburban supper-party at the quiet house where he lived with his widowed mother and sisters in South Kensington.
Wright, you are a friend of Mr. Greve, aren't you?" "Rather!" was the enthusiastic answer. "Do you see him often?" The boy's eyes narrowed suddenly. Was this a cross-examination? "Oh, yes," he replied, "every now and then!" Mary Trevert raised her eyes to his. "Will you do something for me?" she said. "Tell Mr. Greve not to trust Manderton. He will know whom I mean.
He had dropped his eyes to the ground now and was studying the pattern of the hearth-rug. "You say you heard no shot?" he suddenly asked Robin. "No!" "No one other than Miss Trevert, I gather, heard the shot?" "That is so!" Mr. Manderton consulted a slip of paper which he drew from his pocket. "Inspector Humphries," he said, "has drawn up a rough time-table of events leading up to Mr.
"Then," said the detective, "I'm going to entrust you with that slotted sheet of paper again. For I have an idea, Mr. Greve, that you may get a glimpse of that letter before I do. I'll send a messenger round with it at once." Then a difficulty arose. Manderton had not got the girl's address. They had no address at Harkings. Nor did he know what train Miss Trevert had taken.
"Zere will be no faight," commented the Dutch police officer in lugubrious accents, "my vriends, ve are too laite ..." But the Chief insisted that Mary should stay behind and the doctor agreed to act as her escort. Then in single file the party proceeded up the drive, Robin in front, then the Dutchman, after him the Chief, and Mr. Manderton in the rear. They walked on the grass edging the avenue.
Then the stentorian tones of Sergeant Harris proclaiming the views of "The Thunderer" on the Silesian situation rolled down the corridor and struck distinctly on the ears of the listeners in the hall. Presently Manderton closed the corridor door, shutting off the sound abruptly. "I think you said you could not hear the sergeant with the library door shut?" queried Robin suavely.
And the noospapers 'asn't 'arf been sendin' down to-day ... reporters and photographers ... you oughter seen the crowd as come by the mornin' train ..." "I wonder what they'll get out of Manderton," commented Robin rather grimly to himself as his train puffed leisurely, after the habit of Sunday trains, into the quiet little station.
The police profess to be willing to accept the testimony of the specialists as satisfactory medical evidence about his state of mind. But I distrust that man, Manderton. He is not satisfied, Mr. Jeekes. He won't rest until he knows the truth." The secretary cast her a frightened glance. "But Mr.
He busied himself for an instant at the neck, then rose with a twisted strip of coloured material in his hand. "His braces," he remarked, "very common. The stool what he has stood upon and knocked avay, she lies outsaide! My vriends, ve are too laite!" The doctor, fetched in haste by Manderton, examined the body. The man had been dead, he said, for several hours.
Manderton came to an impressive full stop and glanced round his circle of listeners. He gave his explanations easily and fluently, but in a plain, matter-of-fact tone such as a police constable employs in the witness-box. He had marshalled his facts well, and his measured advance towards his denouement was not without its effect on his audience. Dr.
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