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But no one took any notice of Bobby; his only visitor was Lewis, who came in and said he wanted to use the phone as Miss Jennie had told him to call up Peter Carsley and ask him to come at once.

‘Can't get near the phone in the hall,' grumbled Lewis. ‘There's generally one of your lot using it, and another telling him to hurry up because he wants to use it, too. Lucky they don't know about this one.'

But at last, when Bobby had almost resigned himself to stay there permanently, Mitchell himself strolled in, accompanied by another man to whom he was holding forth at great length on, apparently, the advantages of one special make of motor car over all others. His companion, whom Bobby did not recognize, tried to get in a word or two, but each time he opened his mouth was beaten down and silenced by the steady flood of the other's eloquence that finally swept him clean out of the room, though as he departed he did succeed in getting in one final shot when Mitchell at last paused for breath.

‘I don't agree with you,' he said and vanished.

‘There you are wrong,' said Mitchell with intense conviction.

Then he turned to Bobby, who was aware all at once of an odd conviction that the whole time Mitchell had been talking motoring, his attention had in fact been concentrated upon Bobby – and also that the concentration of Mitchell's attention was a formidable thing.

‘Name?' Mitchell asked, suddenly brief.

‘Owen, Robert Owen,' Bobby answered.

‘Service?'

‘Three years, a little more.'

‘Age?'

‘Twenty-five two months back,' answered Bobby, and thought to himself: ‘You knew all that before.'

‘Don't like night clubs, do you?' Mitchell fired at him next.

‘No, sir.'

‘Why not?'

‘Some do, some don't,' said Bobby. ‘I don't. That's all.'

‘Wasn't it you gave Higgins April the Fifth for the Derby last year?'

‘Yes, sir,' answered Bobby, just a trifle uneasily, for the regulations against gambling are severe.

‘Jolly well Higgins did on it, too,' said Mitchell enviously. ‘I suppose you did, too?'

Bobby shook a melancholy head.

‘I put my ten bob on Orwell,' he confessed sadly.

‘That's life, that is,' declared Mitchell profoundly. ‘Know a good thing, pass it on to the other fellow, pass it by yourself. Next time you'll know better – perhaps. Got anything good for to-morrow?'

Bobby remembered suddenly the butler's double. He offered that.

‘A long shot but it might come off,' he said.

Mitchell gravely made a note of it.

‘I might risk half-a-crown, and I might not,' he observed. ‘What's this about a fellow you saw cutting off through the garden next door?'

Bobby told his tale as briefly as he could; and he noticed that though Mitchell listened intently enough, he made no notes. This meant, Bobby felt sure, that Mitchell had already seen the caretaker of ‘Elmhurst' and heard his story in full.

‘Bad luck the caretaker smoothed those footprints the chap left under where he climbed the wall,' Mitchell observed. ‘You didn't think to stop him?'

‘No, sir,' said Bobby.

He made no attempt to offer any excuse, for he had an idea that Mitchell knew already everything he could say. And he thought also that Mitchell, talkative himself, was likely to prefer few words in others.

‘You think there was blood on the glass on the top of the wall as if the chap had cut himself while climbing over?' Mitchell continued.

‘Yes, sir. The left hand probably, judging from the position. Also I take it he must have been a young man and active from the way he got over the wall. And the caretaker says he threw a ripe tomato at him and hit him on the back, so his coat should show a stain.'

‘Till he's cleaned it,' commented Mitchell. ‘Still, it's something. So is the cut hand. Only was he the murderer, or was he only after apples, or was it something else altogether? What about this elderly man you say you saw?'

Bobby recounted how he had noticed him, noticed that he seemed interested in the house, and how his description tallied with that of the elderly man who had spoken to Sergeant Doran but had referred to the tragedy as to a case of suicide.

‘Funny points about this case,' commented Mitchell.

‘How did he know what had happened, and who is he, anyway? We shall have to try to find him, though, and that'll be a job unless he's willing to come forward.'

‘At first,' Bobby ventured to remark, ‘I thought it might be the man the butler here said Sir Christopher had warned him against. But the description's quite different.'

Secretly Bobby had hoped this might be fresh news to the great man, but apparently it wasn't, so that Lewis must have confided his suspicions to others as well as to Bobby.

‘Have to look him up, too,' was all Mitchell said. ‘There, shouldn't be any trouble about identifying him, though. Most likely they'll know at Sir Christopher's office who it is. The description is all different, of course, but with most people if they describe a lame cow, it's odd they really mean a blind sheep – unless of course it's a woman describing another woman's hat. Hullo, hullo, what's that bit of cloth on the table there?'

Bobby was quite certain, in spite of these two ‘hullos', that Mitchell had noticed it the moment he entered the room, for he had seen him look hard at it. Now Bobby told where and how he had found it, and by the light of his electric torch he showed Mitchell the scratches he had found on the window sill.

‘This ought to have been reported before,' Mitchell said.

‘Might be footprints in the garden.'

Bobby knew the garden had been searched, for from the window he had seen men busy at the task till darkness had made it impossible to continue. But he knew Mitchell knew that better than he did, so he said nothing again, and again he had the idea that Mitchell approved this reticence. More mildly in a way and yet Bobby thought with more real meaning, Mitchell said:

‘You should have left that bit of stuff where it was and let us know at once.'

‘Sorry, sir,' said Bobby this time.

‘Remember it another time,' Mitchell told him, ‘that is if you are one who can learn from your mistakes. It's rare, most people only think of how to excuse them. How was this fellow you saw in the garden next door dressed?'

‘I don't know, sir. I didn't see him.'

‘You didn't ask the caretaker?'

‘No, sir.'

‘I did,' said Mitchell. ‘He said he saw him clearly as he was running off, had only a glimpse of his face, thinks he was young and clean-shaven, and is certain he was wearing a grey tweed suit.'

Bobby said nothing, and Mitchell's eyes were on that fragment of striped worsted cloth as though he would tear its secret from it.

‘Looks as though there were two of them,' he said. ‘Burglars? But if that was one you saw escaping, what became of the other? How did they get the safe open? Must have had a key and known the combination, unless Sir Christopher left it like that – which isn't likely. Another point: looks as if a game of billiards had been going on. Now, if Sir Christopher was one of the players, who was the other? One of the burglars? No one seems to have seen anyone. There's the two young ladies, but there's evidence one of them was playing the piano the whole time, and the other was lying down. Anyhow, Sir Christopher was a dab at the game, and liked a strong opponent, and Lewis says he has never known either of the young ladies ever touch a cue. Can the old chap you saw, who spoke to Doran, have been in the house playing with Sir Christopher, shot him, and then walked away and spoken to Doran the way he did? You say he was looking at the house with a good deal of interest. If he had just shot someone in it, he might well be.'

‘I had been standing there a good long time, sir,' Bobby said. ‘I don't see how he could have got by without my seeing him – my recollection is he walked up from Rushden Road, like any passer-by. There's one point that struck me as a bit funny, if I may mention it,' he went on, a little nervously. ‘After I had been in the “Elmhurst” garden I stood close to the entrance gate to this house, and made a note in my pocket-book. I didn't see Dr Gregory and I'm sure he didn't pass me. It took me at least five minutes and a half to write what I did. I've checked the time by copying it out again. Dr Gregory must have been in the billiard-room during that period, between five and ten minutes that is, with the murdered man on the floor. What was he doing all that time before he came out and called me?'

‘Bear looking into,' admitted Mitchell. ‘Bear looking into. Anything else you noticed?'

‘No, sir.'

‘I've offered the young ladies to leave a man here all night in case they feel nervous,' Mitchell said. ‘Quite grateful they were, so that's all right. I think you had better take the duty. You can phone home that you are detained or your inspector will send a message round for you. They'll be back here soon to examine this room for finger-prints. Don't leave it till they come, but then you can go and get something to eat – the butler will give you something. I want you to sleep here. Miss Brenda's promised to provide some blankets, and you can make up a bed on the couch or somewhere. It's important to know if anything has been taken from the safe, or if it's been tampered with in any way, and I don't want it out of our sight till I'm sure. But we shall have to get that information from Sir Christopher's City staff, or his lawyers, and that'll have to wait till the morning.'

‘Miss Jennie has sent for Mr Carsley already,' Bobby said. ‘The butler came in here and rang him up. He is one of the firm that did Sir Christopher's legal work for him. I believe he and Miss Jennie wanted to be engaged but Sir Christopher wouldn't hear of it.'

‘Possible motive there,' observed Mitchell, looking almost excited. ‘Sounds interesting, anyhow. Nothing else to tell me, have you?'

‘Only,' replied Bobby, remembering something that till now had escaped his mind, ‘that Miss Brenda is engaged to a Mr Lester and thought she saw him near the drawing-room window about the time the murder was committed. But Lewis hadn't seen him or anyone else apparently.'

‘Sir Christopher object to him, too?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘Might be him the game of billiards was being played with,' observed Mitchell. ‘Bear looking into. I must go now, but I'm coming back, though I didn't mean to, and if Mr Carsley arrives while I'm away, don't say anything at first, but don't let him go till I've got back. Understand?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Suppose he won't stop, what'll you do?'

‘Arrest him for obstructing a police officer in the execution of his duty,' answered Bobby.

‘Young man,' said Mitchell, ‘I almost think if you don't make a fool of yourself, which generally happens, you'll get on.'

He went away then and Bobby took care to be not far off when presently a ring at the door announced Peter's arrival. Lewis showed him into the drawing-room where Brenda and Jennie were waiting, and before very long Mitchell was back again.

‘Our bird here?' he asked Bobby, who had admitted him.

‘Yes, sir,' answered Bobby. ‘He's in the drawing-room with the two young ladies. He's wearing a blue serge suit and his left hand is bandaged as if he had cut it recently.'

‘Bear looking into,' he said, ‘that will... only if it's him did it, would he have the face to come back here like that? If he has, then he's the world's record holder for cheek and impudence. Gone in to talk to the two girls, has he? Well, we won't interrupt them just yet, though I would give a year's pay to hear what he's saying to them.'

‘I think he and Miss Jennie are alone,' Bobby said. ‘I saw Miss Brenda come out of the drawing-room and go upstairs soon after he went in.'

‘Tactful young woman,' observed Mitchell. ‘Makes me want to know still more what the other two are saying. A real sleuth, young man, would be hiding under the drawing-room table, noting down every word. I suppose you never thought of that?'

‘No, sir,' said Bobby.

‘Pity,' said Mitchell, ‘not that listeners often hear anything that's much use – the really successful detective is the man who sits in his office waiting for people to come and tell him things. Hullo, who's that?' he added as there came a knock at the door. ‘Some of our people again?'

‘Shall I go?' Bobby said, and when he opened the door – Lewis, slumbering more or less profoundly on a chair in his pantry, had heard nothing – he saw a tall, thin, pale young man, with a high forehead, deep-set, eager eyes, a mouth of which the long, thin lips were twitching nervously. He had no hat, and his hair, which he wore rather long, hung over his forehead. He had a trick of frequently tossing his head to throw these loose locks back. Bobby noticed specially his hands, which were long and white, rather beautifully shaped and evidently very carefully tended. In his manner was something intense, or rather repressed, as if all the time he were holding his full energies in check, and when he spoke it was with a slight stammer, though whether that was habitual or the result of present excitement, Bobby could not tell.

‘Oh, police,' he said now, staring at Bobby's uniform, ‘police – it's true then?'

Bobby said nothing, but waited. The stranger went on:

‘My name's Lester – Mark Lester. I'm a friend. We've heard Sir Christopher has been shot – is it true? I came at once. Is Miss Laing up still, do you know?'

‘Mr Lester?' Bobby repeated, remembering the name at once. ‘You had better come in. I think Mr Mitchell would like to see you – Mr Mitchell is in charge of the case at present.'

‘Then it is true?' Mark exclaimed, following Bobby across the hall to the study. ‘What a dreadful thing – I came as soon as I heard. It's Miss Laing I came to see.'