“Best luck, sir,” returned the inspector politely.
They eyed one another above their respective rims. Then each set down his tankard and laughed.
“You were going to tell me all the time, weren’t you?” said Roger confidently.
“Well, I ought not to, you know, Mr. Sheringham,” the inspector demurred. “Still, I mustn’t forget that it was you who put me on to the man in the first place, must I?”
“You must not,” Roger agreed with feeling.
“But this really isn’t for publication, mind. In fact I’d rather you undertook not to tell a single living soul. It’s only on that condition I can say anything to you.”
“Not even Anthony?”
“Not even Mr. Walton.”
“Not even Anthony it is, then,” Roger said cheerfully. “Shoot! What was the poison?”
“Aconitine.”