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‘Quite a reasonable attitude,' agreed Mitchell, ‘assuming of course – I don't suggest for a moment you can't – that you can satisfy all clients.'

‘We can, of course we can,' declared Marsden, bringing down his hand heavily on the table. ‘The firm will have a hard job to pull through, but no client will be a penny short. Carsley's all right of course. Sir Christopher hadn't signed his new will he had instructed us to draw up – Carsley has the draft still, I suppose – and so through his wife Carsley takes every penny Sir Christopher leaves.'

‘The police are already fully awake to that fact, Marsden,' Peter said. ‘It was quite unnecessary to remind them – and not very clever. I'm already suspected of the murder though I didn't commit it.'

‘You don't really mean they suspect you?' Marsden asked with an air of surprise that Bobby at least was inclined to think was only assumed. ‘You're a priceless fool... but murder... the first thing I said was: “Hullo, Carsley's done the old man in for his money”, but of course I didn't mean it and besides the paper talked about burglars.'

‘You're taking a lot of trouble,' Peter remarked, ‘to try to give the police an idea that was the first that occurred to them.'

‘Oh, well,' said Marsden and looked at Mitchell. ‘Is that so?' he asked.

‘I take it everyone is more or less under suspicion in cases like this,' Mitchell remarked mildly.

‘Well, I suppose you can prove where you were at the time of the murder?' Marsden remarked, turning to Peter.

Peter did not answer. He was looking straight in front of him, his face pale and worn, his expression very intent, his eyes with an odd strained look to them; to Bobby's fancy it was of an almost complete despair that his looks and attitude spoke.

Mitchell said:

‘By the way, Mr Marsden, you weren't at home last night. We had occasion to ring you up, as Sir Christopher's lawyer, and we were told you weren't there.'

‘No, I went to Paris,' Marsden answered.

‘As a result of arrangements already made, I suppose?' Mitchell asked indifferently.

‘No,' answered Marsden, ‘it was totally unexpected. I got word of a piece of business that might be picked up there and off I went.'

‘I suppose,' suggested Mitchell, ‘you let someone know...?'

‘I'm afraid I didn't,' Marsden answered. ‘I was still excited and upset and this chance of new business turning up – well, I thought of nothing else but going after it. I thought it might mean salvation after all, drowning man snatching at a straw.'

‘Any objection,' asked Mitchell, but not as if he really cared, ‘to tell us what hotel you stayed at and what the business was – confidential, of course.'

‘I didn't stay at an hotel,' Marsden explained. ‘I went to the private flat of the friend who put me up – he gave me his key. And I can't tell you his name, partly because I've promised not to, partly because, if I did, you would know at once what the business was. It's a rather important amalgamation of two big firms, and if I am lucky I might get the legal business connected with it. But I can't say anything more, it would be a betrayal of confidence; it might, if it got about, ruin the very delicate negotiations that are going on, and of course if the indiscretion were traced to me–'

‘At Scotland Yard, we're used to keeping secrets,' Mitchell hinted mildly, but Marsden shook his head again.

‘Not my secret,' he said.

‘You got the business?' Mitchell asked.

Once more Marsden shook his head, lifting at the same time his white, well-kept hands with a gesture of resignation.

‘No luck,' he said. ‘I found I was weeks ahead, nothing settled yet, there had been a bad hitch my friend had not known about. I still hope of course, but the whole thing's put off for the present. Then this morning I read in the papers about Sir Christopher, and I thought I had better get back as quick as I could, so I hired a private plane and flew over. My first idea was that it would be all right again – now old Sir Christopher was dead. I know that sounds a bit brutal, but what I mean is, I felt we had nothing to be afraid of from him any more, now he was dead – he couldn't smash the firm in now just to get at Carsley. So – well, in a way his death seemed good luck for us, and then when I got here I found that that unimaginable idiot of a Carsley had put us in the soup again, dished the firm for good and all: the oldest, best- established firm going couldn't survive one of the partners trotting off to the Public Prosecutor and asking for an investigation. You must excuse me,' he added, ‘if I talk a bit wildly; it's rather trying, first to have your partner ruin you by playing the fool with your biggest client's daughter, then to be saved by that same client getting himself murdered, then to be faced with ruin again by a new piece of idiocy on your partner's part. I hardly know where I am or what I'm doing or saying – the only thing I feel I want to do is to tell Carsley what I think of him, and good Lord, what's the use?'

‘I see, I see,' said Mitchell, ‘Well, I thought it would bear looking into. The fact is, there's rather a curious complication in this case. Sir Christopher's safe was robbed last evening and apparently a large sum of money in bearer bonds, and a number of diamonds of unknown but probably considerable value are supposed to have been stolen.'

‘Bonds? Not the Belfort bonds?' Marsden asked quickly.

‘Yes,' said Peter.

Marsden whistled softy.

‘Sellable anywhere, anyhow, by anyone,' he commented. ‘Well, at any rate, we're all right there. We hold Sir Christopher's receipt; he's responsible, his estate rather, we're not. A big haul for the thieves; but then if it was thieves, it wasn't–'

He paused and glanced at Peter, a little as if he were sorry that thus his innocence seemed to be proved.

‘The murder probably happened some time after the robbery,' Mitchell explained. ‘There doesn't seem any connexion, but it's a curious coincidence and it'll bear looking into.'

‘So I should think,' Marsden agreed. ‘Those thieves, whoever they were, had some luck – they can't have known there was all that money there in bearer bonds or dreamed what a haul they were going to make.'

‘Depends on who the thieves were, what they knew,' observed Mitchell. ‘If I mention certain facts, it is only because they are there and can't be overlooked. It is reported that last night you made a statement, since denied, that your firm was ruined and bankrupt, and that certain frauds had taken place. You had reason to be aware that a large sum was in Sir Christopher's safe. The safe was not forced, it was opened with a key. Obviously Sir Christopher's legal adviser would have had every opportunity to provide himself with an impression from which a key could have been made. You did not return home as usual, but left hurriedly and unexpectedly for the Continent on a business errand which you cannot explain, as it is confidential.'

‘I returned,' Marsden said quickly, ‘the quickest way I could.'

‘On the news of Sir Christopher's murder reaching you, you return,' Mitchell agreed, ‘and you now declare yourself in possession of sufficient funds to meet all liabilities, though, for the reasons you have explained, you decline all independent investigation of your books. I think it my duty to mention these facts but I am at present drawing no conclusion of any kind. If you wish to make any statement, at any time, you can always let me know at Scotland Yard.'

‘Well, that puts the hat on it,' Marsden said, ‘just about settles our chances of pulling through – one partner suspected of burglary and the other of murder.'

After Marsden had said this there was a silence in the room for a moment or two. Bobby, watching the Superintendent, who appeared plunged in deep thought, had the idea that this silence pleased him, that he wished it to sink, as it were, into the minds and consciousness of the two partners. Of them, Marsden looked scowling and defiant; but Peter was staring gloomily before him, as if there was something very strange showing in his intent gaze, something that looked like horror or despair or some other such deep emotion, yet his mouth and lips were set in lines that seemed to show a resolute determination not to let it get the better of him. Still neither of them spoke and presently Mitchell got to his feet.

‘A little early to talk about suspicion yet, gentlemen,' he said gently. ‘At present we are only concerned with the facts. When we have them sorted out, then it'll be time enough to talk about suspicions. Are you thinking of going abroad again just now, Mr Marsden?'

‘I shall have all my work cut out for me here,' Marsden answered with another angry glare at Peter. ‘What I've got to do now is to try to keep what clients we have left, if that's possible. Trying to get more is rather a forlorn hope at present.'

‘Then,' suggested Mitchell, ‘I daresay you wouldn't have any objection to our taking care of your passport for you for the present. Mr Carsley has already trusted us with his.'

‘No, I haven't,' said Peter. ‘You took it. You never asked, you took it.'

‘Only because you weren't there at the moment,' Mitchell pointed out in quite a pained voice. ‘Anyhow, we're asking Mr Marsden.'

Marsden looked more scowling and defiant than ever, and Bobby almost thought for a moment that there was going to be an outburst. But then with a sort of hard laugh Marsden produced his pocket-book, took out the passport, and flung it angrily on the table.

‘There it is if you want it,' he said angrily. ‘Perhaps you would like to take our finger-prints as well.'

‘Ah, finger-prints,' said Mitchell, slipping the passport into his pocket, ‘finger-prints – oh, it's only small fry we catch with finger-prints nowadays, and it's not small fry we are up against in this case. Of course, if we should need them I know we can rely on both you gentlemen. Good morning, gentlemen, good morning.'

Neither of them made him any answer. Leaving them sitting there facing each other with dark and angry looks, Mitchell left the room, and Bobby, since he did not know what else to do, followed.

Outside, Mitchell beckoned to a taxi he saw at a distance. He had not seemed to be aware of Bobby, hovering humbly just behind, but now he remarked to him over his shoulder: ‘Taxis for supers, buses and trams for sergeants and inspectors, and constables can foot it. That,' said Mitchell with deep appreciation, ‘is discipline.'

‘Yes, sir,' said Bobby respectfully.

Watching the slow approach of his taxi, held up by the manoeuvres of a leading K.C.'s car that seemed nearly as big as the surrounding houses, Mitchell asked:

‘Well, what do you think of all that?'

‘Don't know, sir,' said Bobby, who indeed felt completely bewildered by what he had heard.

‘Has Marsden been embezzling his clients' cash?' Mitchell went on; ‘is that why he bolted? If so, why did he come back? Was it because he heard of the murder and thought it was safe to return with Sir Christopher out of the way? Then where does Carsley come in? He can't account for his movements at the time of the murder, says he was walking about the streets. Feeble sort of story, but it might be true, feeble stories sometimes are, most likely because truth's a feeble growth in this world. But the murder meant a fortune for him and his wife. Adequate motive there, and we know no other. Marsden, according to Carsley, said last night the firm was bankrupt, and now says every claim can be met – is that because he has the missing bonds and diamonds in his pocket? Did he come back because he thought the bigger crime, the murder, would cover the smaller one, the theft? And, anyhow, there wasn't Sir Christopher to be afraid of any longer. Then there's the doctor – if the murdered man was dead when he entered the billiard-room, why was he as long giving the alarm as you say he was? Was it to let someone escape? Who was the man seen escaping over the next door garden wall and is it only a coincidence that Carsley's hand was cut? Who was the man Miss Laing says she saw and why did she think it was Mark Lester at first? Can you make sense of all that, young man?'

‘No, sir,' said Bobby.

Mitchell surveyed him with a benevolent eye.

‘What I like about you,' he said, ‘is the way you encourage conversation, always some apt remark to make, some interesting comment to pass.'

‘Thank you, sir,' said Bobby.

‘If you want a man to talk, and he don't,' Mitchell continued, ‘then, if you keep it up long enough, about the weather and what'll win, and what possessed the Arsenal directors to pick the team they did last Saturday, or, if it's a woman, about how well she's looking and how wonderfully her hat suits her and isn't Greta Garbo just lovely and is it true Ronald Colman's eyelashes are artificial – then in the end they'll start talking, too. Talk, my boy, has loosened more tongues than anything else, except, perhaps, champagne, and do you think you could get champagne for suspects through an expenses list?'

‘I don't, sir,' said Bobby.

‘Then you talk and they'll talk and so it all comes out. Of course, you have to have a kind of natural gift for talk. I have,' added the Superintendent modestly.

‘Yes, sir,' agreed Bobby.

Mitchell looked at him suspiciously.

‘I suppose someone told you,' he remarked. ‘After all, there's only one way to get to know things and that is to wait till someone who knows already comes and tells you. That's the first maxim in my forthcoming book,
The Complete Detective and How to Be It
, which will be one of the world's lost masterpieces because I'll never write it. But remember that – talk and it shall be talked unto you.'

‘Yes, sir,' said Bobby.

‘And in this case, what we want above all,' continued Mitchell as his taxi at last drew up, having finally succeeded in evading the famous K.C.'s fifty (there or thereabouts) cylinder chariot, ‘is to find out who the revolver belonged to. Keep your eyes and ears open, and if you hear anything new, come along and tell me personally – personally, mind. That is,' added the great man, chuckling pleasantly, ‘if they'll let a constable of three years' service get anywhere within a mile of a superintendent, which it isn't likely they will, is it?'