“You mean, that she pushed her cousin over the cliff?” amplified Roger, who was not a person to mince matters. “No, I don’t think I do. I liked her, I must say—though that isn’t anything to go by, is it?”
“It’s a devil of a lot. And you really will do all you can to help clear her, Roger?”
“Of course I will. Haven’t I told her so half-a-dozen times over?”
“Thanks, old man,” said Anthony simply.
It was a slightly awkward moment. To tide it over Roger embarked upon a voluble account of his conversation with Inspector Moresby, what he had discovered and what he had not, which took them right up to the door of their inn.
“And that’s the first thing we’ve got to discover, fair coz,” he was saying vehemently as they crossed the threshold. “What old Moresby’s got up his sleeve. And that’s what I’m jolly well going to get out of him somehow, by hook, or even, if it comes to the point, by crook. And what’s more, I think I see a way of going about it. So now for our four bedrooms and a little cold water. By Jove, Anthony, it’s hot isn’t it? What about a tankard apiece before we go upstairs?”
“How you do think of things!” was Anthony’s strongly approving comment.
They adjourned briskly into the cool little bar.
“Mr. Moresby back yet, do you know?” Roger asked the landlord in a casual voice as he set the mighty tankard down on the counter after an initial gulp at its contents.
“No, sir,” replied that mountainous man. “He said he’d be back for ’is supper round about eight o’clock.”