“I don’t see it in that light. That would imply that she was not in the plot, and plot there certainly was; everything points to it. The drugging, the open window, the maid’s escape.”
“A plot, no doubt, but organized by whom? These two women only? Could either of them have struck the fatal blow? Hardly. Women have the wit to conceive, but neither courage nor brute force to execute. There was a man in this, rest assured.”
“Granted. But who? That fire-eating Sir Collingham?” quickly asked the detective, giving rein once more to his hatred.
“That is not a solution that commends itself to me, I must confess,” declared the Judge. “The General’s conduct has been blameworthy and injudicious, but he is not of the stuff that makes criminals.”
“Who, then? The porter? No? The clergyman? No? The French gentlemen?—well, we have not examined them yet; but from what I saw at the first cursory glance, I am not disposed to suspect them.”
“What of that Italian?” asked the Commissary.
“Are you sure of him? His looks did not please me greatly, and he was very eager to get away from here. What if he takes to his heels?”
“Block is with him,” the Chief put in hastily, with the evident desire to stifle an unpleasant misgiving. “We have touch of him if we want him, as we may.”
How much they might want him they only realized when they got further in their inquiry!