“Who unpacked for you when you came back from Ashover?”
“My man, Bailey.”
“Well, the inspector says the suit-case was not locked—just strapped.”
“That’s how it always is. Do you think the police put it there, Tempest?”
“Oh, no. Parkyns was present when Robson found it. I know Parkyns well, and I’d trust him anywhere. Besides, the police don’t do that kind of thing. They try to get convictions, of course; and if a simple constable makes a mistake he can always get his pals to come and back him up. But higher up in the force they wouldn’t even do that. They are a fine lot of men. Can you trust Bailey?”
“If I find I can’t, I’ll never believe in anyone else so long as I live. I’d have cheerfully trusted my life to him.”
“Well, Baxter, it’s simply this, unless that revolver can be explained it won’t be much good asking for bail. Can you suggest anything? I’ll go and cross-question Bailey, and I’ll see if Parkyns will tell me whether the police have found out where it was purchased. That may help us.”
The barrister left the prison, puzzled and troubled. After the broad hint the magistrate had given him it was disheartening to him as an advocate, and damning to his client, that he could put forward no explanation.
He went straight to Baxter’s rooms and interviewed Bailey. As he had expected, he learned that, of course, the revolver was not in the case when Bailey had unpacked it.
“Did you lock it up then?”