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When he arrived at headquarters, however, Bobby found that Mitchell had unexpectedly been called away on other business, and so he had to spend the rest of the day dawdling about, yawning, reading the papers, playing a game of a hundred up with the C.I.D. billiards champion and losing half a crown for his temerity. Finally he was dismissed from duty for that day.

The next morning he had another long wait, but just as he was beginning to think that both he and his information had been entirely forgotten, he was sent for by Inspector Gibbons.

‘It's been decided to put the papers before Treasury Counsel,' Gibbons told him. ‘Seems to me the case is good enough, though the Treasury lot will pick a hole in it if they can – they don't want their cases cast iron, they want them cold steel, double lined, armour plated, jewelled in every hole, good enough for the kingdom of heaven, let alone a world like this. But when a murder puts a fortune in a man's pocket and that man is seen at the time escaping over a garden wall – well, even Treasury Counsel might be able to get a conviction if they chose to put in a bit of work for once in a way themselves, instead of expecting us to do it all.'

‘Only,' Bobby pointed out, ‘it didn't put a fortune into Carsley's pocket, but into his wife's.'

‘The wife may go next,' Gibbons remarked, and when Bobby started slightly at the grim suggestion, he said: ‘Thought that yourself, have you?'

‘No, sir,' answered Bobby, ‘but Marsden, Carsley's partner, hinted the same thing to me. I made a report.'

‘Did you, though?' exclaimed Gibbons. ‘I hadn't seen that, Mitchell kept it to himself, I suppose. Just like him, he's always doing that and then expects you to know it all. But if it's going to be like that, it's pretty tough – first the father-in-law and then the wife. Risky, too, one after the other, unless of course she suspects something and he has got to – to keep her quiet.'

Bobby perpended.

‘I saw Carsley run straight the length of the whole field at Cardiff once,' he said slowly. ‘If a fellow runs straight in one thing–'

‘Doesn't follow he'll run straight in everything else,' interrupted Gibbons, ‘human nature's not so simple as all that. Though Mitchell has rather the same idea as you, only he puts it that Rugby footballers haven't the brains for murder – unless of course it's a referee. But there are two weak points – we can't identify the revolver. If it's really the one Sir Christopher is supposed to have had, and that is missing now, if it ever existed, then, since Carsley was often at the house, he might have managed to get hold of it, or he might have got his wife to give it him. If it's that way, and if she has any suspicions, that might be why... what do you think?'

‘Rather a lot of “ifs”, if I may say so,' Bobby pointed out.

‘Yes,' agreed Gibbons, ‘I suppose we shall simply have to say a revolver was certainly used but that the point is, who used it? Not, where did it come from? Then there are the theatre tickets as well. Mitchell is worrying quite a lot about them. He's got some idea about them he won't say because he can't get any confirmation, thinks we shan't understand the case till they're accounted for. What I say is we don't want to understand the case, all we want is the evidence on which to ask Treasury Counsel to act. Nothing need ever be said in court about those tickets, very likely they don't really come into the case at all.'

He went on to give Bobby his instructions for the day, They seemed of no great importance, being concerned chiefly with minor details, but they all clearly pointed to a general acceptance of the theory of Peter Carsley's guilt.

For indeed this identification of Peter with the man seen escaping over the garden wall seemed to suggest conclusions it was not easy to avoid.

One of the minor errands Bobby had been assigned took him to Lincoln's Inn, to the office of Marsden, Carsley, and Marsden. It was merely a date he had to verify, and one that seemed to Bobby of no importance or significance whatever. However, orders had to be obeyed.

He found the office in a state bordering on chaos. For some time now the two partners had ceased to be on speaking terms. The struggle between them, between Carsley's determination to examine in detail every recent transaction, and Marsden's resolve that he should do nothing of the kind, was, apparently, now approaching a climax.

‘Mr Carsley says he'll circularize all the clients, telling them he believes something's wrong unless Mr Marsden lets him have all the information he wants,' one of the distracted clerks told Bobby. ‘It'll be a pretty serious thing, if he does – criminal libel, if you ask me.'

‘Surely Mr Carsley has a right to see and know everything if he's a partner, hasn't he?' Bobby asked.

‘I suppose so,' agreed the clerk, ‘but Mr Marsden says he knows there are things Mr Carsley could twist round to ruin the practice. Mr Marsden says he won't let that happen, not just to satisfy Mr Carsley's crazy spite. What Mr Marsden says is that the interests of every client have been and are fully protected, even if now and again one fund has been used to pay another. What's the sense of selling one client's securities at a loss when you can borrow from another whose money is lying idle in the bank?'

‘Suppose the first man's securities happen to drop heavily and suddenly? That does occur sometimes.'

‘That's easy,' retorted the clerk; ‘it costs very little to insure at Lloyd's against that happening.'

‘I suppose there's that,' agreed Bobby. ‘What do you in the office think?'

‘Well, we're all looking out for fresh posts,' the other answered rather dismally, ‘but none of us believe there's anything seriously wrong, though there may have been irregularities.'

But what the clerk meant by ‘irregularities', what he really believed, whether he did not think it wiser on the whole to exercise a prudent restraint upon his speech, Bobby was not sure. What he was sure of was that the whole office was thoroughly scared, and that a crisis was approaching.

For he remembered Peter's square, aggressive chin, and was still inclined to think him one not easily turned from his purpose – though what that purpose might be, Bobby could not even yet make up his mind, not even with the apparently damning testimony of Mr Belfort fresh in his mind.

His date verified, he went off, now a little inclined to suspect that this had only been a pretext, and that what Mitchell would be likely to ask him about would be the general state of feeling in the office, among the staff. Perhaps, Bobby thought, it had been another little test of his aptness for intelligence work and the gathering of information. Well, if so, he would be able to give some answer to any question that might be put him, and then he noticed Marsden himself coming towards him. He was rather inclined to suspect indeed that Marsden had been waiting for him; at any rate, it was with no air of surprise, but rather with a pleasant recognition, that Marsden was approaching.

‘Hullo, you again,' Marsden said amiably. ‘I almost thought you people had forgotten me. Aren't you shadowing us any longer?'

‘I don't know,' Bobby answered. ‘I've not heard, but I should think it's likely.'

‘Well, you would know, I suppose, wouldn't you?' Marsden asked smilingly.

Bobby shook his head.

‘I'm not directing the investigation,' he said. ‘I just have orders and don't get told anything else.'

‘Oh, just as you like,' Marsden answered with an incredulous smile. ‘I suppose you chaps have got to be careful what you say, only I don't notice fellows dodging after me now the way they were before. Nor after Carsley, either.'

He uttered this last sentence quite carelessly, as if it were the merest afterthought. Yet Bobby thought that unless his imagination deceived him gravely, he could detect an odd note of anxiety, almost of fear, in the other's voice, a look that seemed of the same anxious fear flickering in the lawyer's sharp, dark eyes. Yet why Marsden should care, one way or the other, whether Peter was still being watched or not, Bobby was quite unable to imagine. There seemed no possible reason why that should or should not cause Marsden any concern, much less any fear. The notion that it should be so, indeed, Bobby labelled in his own mind as preposterous, and yet he kept it there, as something for which an explanation was required. Only this case consisted almost entirely of points for which more explanation was required. He said slowly:

‘I don't know anything about it, but after what you told us I should think it's certain Mr Carsley is being very closely watched indeed. Not that that means there's bound to be someone always on his heels. When we do it like that, it's generally because we rather want whoever is being trailed, to know it. It's the business of the police to stop crime just as much as to arrest criminals.'

‘Well, you didn't manage to stop the murder of poor old Sir Christopher Clarke, did you?' Marsden retorted somewhat tartly, and yet again Bobby had the impression that his assurance that Peter was being closely watched had come to Marsden as an intense relief. Could it be that Marsden really feared his young partner, really thought he himself was in danger from him? That seemed to Bobby quite incredible and yet – who could tell? At any rate, it seemed clear that Marsden wanted to be assured that a close watch was being kept on Peter, and now he went on: ‘You haven't got very far towards catching the murderer yet, have you? The sooner he's hanged the better, if you ask me. And you haven't found out much about the robbery of the safe, either, have you?'

‘I don't know anything about that side of it,' Bobby answered. ‘I've not been working on it at all, or heard anything from anyone who has.'

‘Well, when you arrest the man who committed the murder and the man who robbed the safe, you'll only need one pair of handcuffs – at least, that's my opinion,' declared Marsden. ‘I suppose you don't think much of the old saying “Who profited?”'

‘What we want is evidence, not presumptions,' Bobby answered. ‘Every lawyer knows that, I suppose. What we want is evidence we can put to a jury.'

‘Well, I can't help you there,' Marsden admitted. But “who benefits?” is good enough for me, though of course, speaking professionally, I quite agree you can't put that to a jury. I only meant it as a pointer to work from. Of course, you'll say I'm prejudiced, and when a man's own partner is doing his best to ruin him and the practice together – well, it doesn't make you feel too charitable. Carsley has actually threatened to send round circulars to all our clients, appealing to them to investigate for themselves. In a way, I hope he does. I can have him then in an action for damages – it would be ruin all the same, but I might get enough for a fresh start somewhere else. Now Carsley's got a rich wife, he's worth powder and shot.'

‘I don't see why it should ruin you, if you win your action and get damages,' Bobby remarked.

Marsden shrugged his shoulders.

‘I don't deny there have been a few irregularities,' he answered. ‘No one carries on thinking of strict professional etiquette all the time. Everyone strains it a bit now and then. All I do say is that all our clients' interests are safe and always have been safe – it's Caesar's wife over again. No woman's character is any good once it's been whispered about, and no solicitor's practice, either.'

‘I don't understand why Mr Carsley–' began Bobby.

‘Oh, personal reasons,' Marsden interrupted. ‘I daresay I haven't always been as tactful as I might have been – showed him too plainly what an utter young fool I thought him. Of course, now, the practice is nothing to him. It means no more to him than a cab fare does to me. Why, do you know, only yesterday it's only a trifling matter but still... of course, it's nothing to do with you but I would like to tell you just to show... then you can see why I'm prejudiced... help you to understand... it's gospel truth Carsley went to any amount of trouble to get out of my hands into his own the disposal of the lease of a house belonging to a client of ours. Lord knows, he's welcome to the job, but it just shows you the spirit. It's a tumble-down old place in an out-of-the-way spot you can hardly get at, made out of an old mill turned into a dwelling-house, most inconvenient and with a suspected water supply. Not likely we shall ever find a tenant or a purchaser, unless we try Bedlam, and yet Carsley went to immense trouble to get the whole business of dealing with it into his own hands. Now why? Do you know? Just to spite me. Silly, but it shows the sort of nagging I have to put up with.'

Bobby's suspicion that he had been sent to the Marsden and Carsley office less for the purpose of obtaining confirmation of an entirely unimportant date than to see what impression the condition of affairs there made upon him, turned into certainty the next time he saw Mitchell. For the first thing the Superintendent asked him was what it seemed to him the office staff thought of recent events, and of the now open breach between the partners. So Bobby recounted the conversation he had had with one of the clerks and Mitchell appeared satisfied.

‘I've got three men trying to make friends with the different clerks working there,' he remarked, ‘but I don't think any of them really knows anything. You didn't tell Marsden anything about Peter Carsley having been identified by Mr Belfort?'

‘Oh, no, sir, of course not,' answered Bobby.

‘The Assistant Commissioner has all the papers in the case now,' Mitchell went on, ‘and he is sending them on at once to Treasury Counsel. Unless they can pick rather more holes in it than I expect, they'll probably agree it's good enough and we can proceed to arrest.'

‘There's one point, if I may mention it, sir,' Bobby said, and when Mitchell nodded consent, he went on: ‘The theory of Carsley's guilt doesn't throw any light on Mark Lester's suicide.'