“Not at all, sir. Under close supervision—at present. Of course, if you were to try to escape . . .” The Chief Inspector left the consequences to Mr. Beale's alert imagination; “but you'll find Watts here and Duncan know their work, and will cause you as little inconvenience as possible.”
“I see. Well, I know when a game's lost,” the American retorted bitterly. “Say, you spoke of Carter's alibi just now. I suppose he's free, and all that?”
“He will be by to-morrow”; and Pointer, after reading over Mr. Beale's account and getting it signed, made off for the nearest telegraph office, while the American looked after him with an ironical smile. “Carter to be set free to-morrow. Well, well, the brains of the British police!”
Christine was the first to arrive in London, where she was met by a pale, gaunt-faced young man. Pointer, carrying the signed paper which Mr. Beale had staked so much to obtain, followed, and with him, though in a different compartment, travelled Mr. Beale and his valet.
The Chief Inspector, after an interview with the authorities at the Yard, went on to the Enterprise Hotel. The manager was in, and he practically repeated his opening words to Mr. Beale.
The manager might or might not be made of better stuff than the American, but he certainly was of softer. He sank back into his chair, looking as though he saw the hangman already entering his cell.
Chapter IX
The Chief Inspector gave the manager no time to collect himself. He went rapidly over Mr. Beale's accusation that it was Mr. Hughes who had offered the papers of the dead man to him.
“I'm in an awful hole.” The manager poured out a glass of whisky and soda with a shaking hand.
“Pretty bad,” agreed the unsympathetic police-officer, “but perhaps it might be worse.” His glance around the room pointed his meaning. The tumbler was set unsteadily back on the tray.