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‘Mr Belfort doesn't seem to have arrived,' Mitchell observed. ‘Did Sir Christopher tell Mr Marsden about the diamonds you speak of?'

‘Yes. Marsden asked if it wasn't rather dangerous to keep such a large sum in securities anyone could dispose of anywhere at any time almost. Sir Christopher said he had had diamonds worth as much in the safe for the last three months, and he thought the Belfort bonds would be all right for a single night.'

‘Did Sir Christopher deal in diamonds?'

‘Sometimes, as a sort of side line, when he saw a chance of a profitable deal. I believe he put through some fairly big deals at times. And I think he liked to have them as a sort of reserve for days when you never know what's going to happen to stocks and shares, or even to banknotes. He used to say diamonds and gold were always worth their value, but you could carry a fortune in diamonds in your pocket while you wanted a steam lorry to deal with any really big sum in gold.'

‘Prudent gentleman, Sir Christopher,' Mitchell mused, ‘even though it's always the prudent that seem let down the worst in the end, and now neither diamonds nor gold will help him much. I could see Mr Marsden in the morning at your office?'

‘I don't know,' said Peter grimly. ‘I don't know what he'll do; he may be there for all I know or he may – bolt.'

‘Why bolt?' asked Mitchell, and Peter said:

‘He told me this afternoon that he had embezzled the money of our clients to a very large amount and that the firm was bankrupt – fraudulently bankrupt.'

‘He did, did he?' said Mitchell, blinking both eyes, and for once quite taken aback by this abrupt declaration. ‘Well, that's – well, what did you do?'

‘I don't think I quite remember,' Peter answered. ‘It was rather a knock-out – I had never dreamed of such a thing. I didn't believe it at first, I thought he was just joking. Afterwards I went out and walked about the streets a bit. Then I went to see Sir Arnold Ameson, the K.C. He advised me to ring up the Public Prosecutor and ask for an appointment in the morning. I think he didn't quite believe it either; he said perhaps Marsden was only trying to frighten me. Then he said I had better go straight to Scotland Yard but I ought to see Marsden first to make sure he meant it. So I started off to do that, and then I thought it was silly, because I was jolly sure Marsden meant it all right enough. I didn't know what to do, and I walked about a long time, and then I made up my mind to go to Scotland Yard. So I went home to get a wash and change, and something to eat first, because I felt such a wreck, and I found a message asking me to come here. So I did.'

Mitchell looked and felt rather helpless. Here was another big case, superimposing itself, as it were, upon a mystery that already seemed as puzzling as any he had ever dealt with. Before he could say anything, one of the finger-print experts put his head round the study door.

‘You're wanted on the phone, sir,' he said to Mitchell. ‘Ah,' said Mitchell, almost with relief, and went off. He was absent some minutes, and when he came back, he said: ‘They've finished in there so we can go back. No luck with finger-prints so far, but then it's not often they're much good now – I believe these days when a six-year-old sets out to raid the strawberry jam in his mother's pantry, he puts on gloves first. It's what the papers call the spread of popular education. No trace of anything of value in the safe, either, Mr Carsley – no securities, no bonds, and no diamonds.'

He led the way into the study again, and as he settled himself comfortably, waving Peter to one chair and Bobby to another, he added carelessly:

‘I see you've hurt your hand, Mr Carsley – how did that happen?'

Peter looked straight at his questioner; and now it was in challenge and in counter challenge, in defiance and in dreadful menace, that their gaze met.

‘I cut it sharpening a pencil,' Peter said slowly, his eyes still staring straight into Mitchell's. ‘When I pretty well ran out of the office after what Marsden told me, I was very upset and excited. I was off my head almost. It meant ruin at the best, it might mean public disgrace and prison if I couldn't clear myself of complicity. I remember thinking I must make some notes of what Marsden had said and pulling a pencil out. It wanted sharpening and my knife slipped and I cut myself. I expect I was a bit shaky. I flung the pencil away and never made any notes after all.'

‘I see,' said Mitchell slowly, ‘I thought perhaps you might have done it while you were climbing a wall with glass on the top?'

‘I don't know what you mean,' Peter answered, his eyes still quiet and steady. ‘What wall? What glass? Why should I climb a wall with glass on it? I have told you how it happened.'

‘I notice you are wearing a blue serge suit,' Mitchell said. ‘Have you had that on all day?'

‘No. I told you I felt so dirty and untidy and hungry, I went home for a wash and change before going on to Scotland Yard.'

‘Not all our visitors are so particular,' said Mitchell dryly. ‘I suggest you had another reason for changing your clothes.'

‘What?' asked Peter.

‘The coat you were wearing showed a stain where it had been hit by a tomato thrown at the man seen climbing the wall next door.'

‘I don't know what you are talking about,' Peter answered steadily. ‘If you care to send to my rooms, you can look for yourself. So far as I know, though my grey tweed suit is old enough, it shows no stain of any kind on the coat – and certainly no sign of having been cleaned recently.'

‘It doesn't,' agreed Mitchell. ‘When I was rung up just now, it was to receive a report from one of my men that a grey tweed suit found in your rooms had been examined and no stain or sign of recent cleaning found.'

‘As I told you,' said Peter quietly. ‘But does that mean you have had my rooms searched?'

‘It does.'

‘Had you a search warrant?'

‘Oh, come, Mr Carsley, sir, and you a lawyer,' Mitchell protested gently. ‘It's a service flat you occupy, isn't it? Our men only called and asked permission to have a look through your rooms. There were three of them – one in plain clothes and a sergeant and constable in uniform. Numbers always impress, and it's a funny thing, too, but a uniform counts for a lot with most people – why, most of 'em would think more of a recruit in uniform than of the Commissioner himself in plain clothes. Your housekeeper lady did hum and ha a bit, but there were three men, and two of them in uniform, and people beginning to look already, and then of course it was explained to her that it was all entirely in your interest, and surely she knew enough of your standing and reputation to realize that everything was exactly as it ought to be, only it just happened certain steps were necessary. I don't know what she thought all that meant, but she agreed to our men having a look round – and if they had found signs of a recent stain on the back of the jacket of your grey tweed suit, Mr Carsley, I am inclined to think it would have been my duty to arrest you.'

‘After which,' retorted Peter, ‘it would have been my pleasure as a lawyer to try to make things hot for you.'

‘Ah, we shouldn't have been afraid of that,' commented Mitchell pleasantly, ‘not as if you were a charming young lady with big eyes and a look of innocence itself – the very devil that sort, have us permanently scared. Another thing. Your housekeeper – she looks after your clothing for you, doesn't she?'

‘Yes.'

‘She says you had two suits of grey tweed but only one was found.'

‘I have only one,' Peter answered. ‘I had two but the other – the newest one – I gave away to a fellow who said he had been at school with me. I didn't remember him, but he seemed to know fellows I knew, and as he said he had a chance of a job in Birmingham, if he could raise the fare and get there looking decent, I gave him a pound note and a suit of clothes. I daresay he was a fraud.'

‘Very likely,' agreed Mitchell. ‘When was this?'

‘Two or three days ago.'

‘Then it wouldn't help us,' sighed Mitchell, ‘if we found him, and he was still wearing that suit, and it showed a stain on the back of the jacket. Could we find him, do you think?'

‘I'm afraid not,' Peter answered. ‘I was too glad to be quit of the poor devil to ask for his address or anything, and I don't remember his name – Hicks or Hickson or something like that. He said he would write and tell me if he got the Birmingham job. He hasn't so far.'

‘Would anyone remember him?' Mitchell asked. ‘Anyone see him, I mean?'

‘I don't suppose so. He spoke to me in the street outside my flat and I took him in myself and let him out again. Very likely no one else saw him.'

‘Very likely,' agreed Mitchell softly. ‘I think that's very likely indeed.'

‘I'm afraid you don't believe me,' Peter said calmly. ‘Well, I'm very sorry, but I can't help that. But I should like to know what all this means and what you're talking about?'

‘A strange man,' explained Mitchell, ‘presumably the murderer of Sir Christopher, though that's not certain, was seen escaping over the wall of the next door garden. A tomato was thrown at him, hit him on the back, and would presumably stain his coat. He is also believed to have cut his hand on the glass on the top of the wall. He is described as young, active, clean-shaven, and wearing a grey tweed suit. There was no attempt at pursuit because then what had happened was not known.'

‘A pity,' observed Peter, ‘but doesn't it occur to you that a good many people are young, active, clean-shaven, and wear grey tweed suits?'

‘That's our difficulty,' admitted Mitchell, ‘that's why we can hardly proceed to immediate arrest. You tell us also that your firm is bankrupt and that large sums, formerly in your charge, are now missing from Sir Christopher's safe over there?'

‘I may remind you,' Peter pointed out, ‘that I consulted Sir Arnold Ameson about five o'clock, some time, I suppose, before all this happened. I think it is fairly obvious that if I had contemplated burglary and murder, I shouldn't have been to see Sir Arnold first.'

‘It's a point to remember,' agreed Mitchell. ‘I understand you and Sir Christopher were on bad terms – you wished to be engaged to his daughter and he objected. Is that so?'

‘Yes,' answered Peter. ‘So we got married three weeks ago.'

‘Eh, what? What's that?' exclaimed Mitchell, once again fairly startled. ‘You mean that?'

‘Of course I mean it,' answered Peter. ‘You can ask my wife if you like, Mrs Carsley, Miss Jennie Clarke till our marriage.'

‘Did Sir Christopher know?'

‘I think he had some suspicion or some idea we didn't mean to give each other up because he disapproved. My wife is of age and was a free agent. But I think he was suspicious, for when he was at our office to-day he gave us instructions for two things. One was for settling forty thousand pounds on Miss Laing – that's his stepdaughter, Jennie's half-sister – on her marriage to Mark Lester next month.'

‘That's a lot of money; that was generous of him,' Mitchell commented.

‘A great deal of money and very generous of him indeed,' Peter said. ‘I could hardly believe it, I didn't think he was that sort at all. There it is, though. His instructions were quite definite. He also destroyed his will, and gave instructions for drawing up a new one, leaving all the rest of his money to his daughter, Jennie, now my wife – if she were unmarried at his death.'

‘Everything to her?'

‘Exactly.'

‘But she isn't unmarried – she's married to you.'

‘Exactly.'

‘Well, then, she gets nothing? Is that it?'

‘She gets everything,' Peter replied. ‘Neither the deed of settlement for Miss Laing's benefit, nor the new will, was completed or signed. Consequently the projected settlement is null and void and as Sir Christopher died intestate, owing to the new will not having been signed, his one surviving relative takes everything. Miss Brenda Laing being only a stepdaughter, the child of his wife by her first husband, is a stranger in blood, and has no claim whatever on the estate. Everything goes to the sole surviving child, his daughter, Jennie. She is sole heir.'

‘And she is your wife and now she takes everything?' Mitchell repeated.

‘Exactly,' answered Peter once again.

The Superintendent's reaction to these revelations was unexpected. He took out his watch, looked at it, and pursed his lips for a low whistle.

‘Ought all to have been in bed long ago,' he said. ‘I'm never fit for anything next day if I don't get a proper rest. Good night, Mr Carsley, see you again soon I expect. By the way, while our man was looking round your flat he found your passport, so he's taken charge of it. You don't mind, do you?'

‘Yes,' said Peter.

‘I thought you would,' said Mitchell, amiably, taking Peter's arm in friendly fashion and drawing him out of the study into the hall. ‘Take my advice and try to get some sleep yourself. Good night.'

‘Good night,' said Peter.

The front door closed behind Mitchell's burly figure. Peter stood still and silent, staring after him, evidently engrossed in many thoughts. In the drawing-room they heard the front door close – Mitchell had not shut it silently – and Brenda opened the door of that room and stood on the threshold, waiting, without coming forward. One had the idea somehow that she was of the few who know how to wait – to wait till the moment comes. Behind her, Bobby, from his place within the study, could see the small, troubled face of Jennie, fluttering doubtfully there as if she wished to pass her stepsister and yet did not dare. The light from the hall lamp shone on her features and showed that she had been crying. It occurred to Bobby that Mitchell had gone as he had done, without a word or sign, partly because he did not wish to remind Peter or the others of Bobby's presence in the study, and that it was also for that reason that he had so gently led Peter into the hall. The study door had been left wide open, but, in the large comfortable arm-chair he was occupying, Bobby was not conspicuous. He shrank still farther back into it and he heard Jennie call: