“Because, sir, he too has shut up his house and gone,” she answered.
“Now, let me think out things a bit,” said Gilead. He paced the room for some minutes, deeply absorbed. Presently, with a sigh, he stopped before his visitor.
“You must kindly leave your address with my secretary, Mrs Baxter,” he said. “I can promise you nothing but that I will look into this business—with what result you shall be informed no later than to-morrow morning. Any comments of mine on it at this stage would be superfluous and cruel.”
She just gazed at him a moment with shining eyes. “Charlie is innocent,” she said. “God bless you, sir”—and she went hurriedly from the room.
A little later saw Gilead closeted with Chief Superintendent Ingram of Scotland Yard.
“No, Mr Balm,” the officer was saying: “I’m afraid you’ll make nothing of it. The case was as plain as the nose on your face, and as well-shaped, if you’ll excuse my saying it, from a professional point of view.” He laughed. “It seems you’re fated,” he said, “to be involved in these Post Office affairs; but you won’t come out of this one, I greatly fear, with such credit to yourself as you did out of the last.”
“Very well, Ingram,” answered Gilead. “But it’s justice I desire, not credit.”
“Justice, you may take my word for it, sir, was properly dealt.”
“Do you know anything about this Mr Hamlin?”
“Nothing to his harm certainly. He’s one of the ‘Garden’ lot, not amongst the swells, but substantial so far as I know. Do you?”