The Colonel laughed. “Well, I’m afraid I haven’t anything in the way of news to tell you, officially or unofficially.”
“Nothing I can pass on to The Courier at all? Oh, come, Colonel; try and think of something. I shall get the sack if I don’t send them something startling to-day, you know. A sensation a day makes The Courier pay, is their motto.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” said the Colonel, his eyes twinkling, “you can tell them this, that the police are confident of solving the mystery within twenty-four hours. That ought to keep them going for a bit.”
“Then you have got some news, sir?” Mr. Doyle cried with admirable eagerness. “You haven’t unearthed some fresh clues, by any chance, have you?”
The Colonel’s eyes twinkled again. “Go and look in the garden where we’ve been all the morning. Your eyes are as good as ours. By the way, all sorts of people are taking a hand in solving this mystery. Your brother-in-law is the latest recruit, Nesbitt.”
“Alan? Yes, he’s as keen as mustard. He came to me this morning full of some ridiculous story. I gather that he’s decided that the Man with the Broken Nose is Mr. Foster. Why don’t you put that in The Courier, Doyle?”
Both laughed with considerable amusement. The Colonel laughed too. Then Guy offered the Colonel an appetiser before lunch, which the latter (to Inspector Cottingham’s patent regret) refused, and they parted.
“He’s swallowed it,” Doyle whispered happily, as the two of them continued their nonchalant stroll towards the house. “I’m certain he has.”
“Yes, I think we can write that off as another success,” agreed Guy, quivering with joy. “I knew that if he didn’t comment on my remarks about Alan, it would be because he took his story seriously.”
“What a thing it is to be a psychologist!” said Mr. Doyle, with proper admiration.