“What!” The barrister stared at him in a species of stupefaction.
Instead of answering the inspector stepped back to the open door of the study.
“One moment, please.”
But if to speak to John Steadman in private was his objective he did not obtain it. Mrs. Bechcombe came quickly into the hall with Cecily Hoyle close behind her.
“Inspector,” she cried, “what is it? You have discovered my husband's murderer? I heard you say ‘Mrs. Carnthwacke.’ ”
The inspector's face was very grave as he turned. Then he stood back for her to pass into the study. He did not speak again until they were all in the room, then he closed the door and looked at Luke Bechcombe's widow with eyes in which pity was mingled with severity.
“Mrs. Carnthwacke has nearly shared your husband's fate, madam,” he said very deliberately. “I think you must be convinced now of the absolute impossibility of the theory you have not hesitated to broadcast all along.”
“What do you mean?” Mrs. Bechcombe questioned sharply.
The inspector spread out his hands.
“As I was just telling Mr. Steadman, Mrs. Carnthwacke was murderously assaulted and left for dead in her own carriage this morning, in circumstances which leave small doubt in my mind that the miscreant who attacked her was Mr. Bechcombe's murderer.”