“What do you mean, sir, exactly by that remark?” he queried.
“I can’t forget,” pronounced Anthony, “that there are two most important things still missing: the Barker I.O.U. and the shoe-lace that killed Prescott.”
CHAPTER X
WALK INTO MY PARLOR
Baddeley acquiesced. “That’s very true. And the more I see of the case, the more I——Still, let’s deal with the matter in hand. There isn’t a reasonable doubt, Mr. Bathurst, that you’ve put your hooks into the right people for this jewel robbery. And one thing at a time, say I.”
Anthony bowed to the compliment. “We can get ‘Spider’ Webb easily enough,” he said, “in any one of half a dozen ways. We’ll discuss that in a few moments. I’m more concerned about Lady Considine’s chance of getting her pearls back. How do we stand there?” The Inspector thought for a moment.
“Let’s see. They were taken in the early hours of this morning. To-morrow’s Sunday. If we can collar our man within twenty-four hours or so we should be able to salve the spoils. Pearls, you see, are different from silver stuff, for example—that’s in the pot before you can wink an eye. The best market for what he’s got away with might be Amsterdam ... he’d probably try about the beginning of next week.”
“Right!” exclaimed Anthony. “I’m inclined to agree with you. Now, how about getting our man? Is it worth while following up Marshall’s telephone call?”
“I’ve got a better plan than that, Mr. Bathurst. You wait and see and let me know what you think of it. I’ve had Marshall under observation since this morning ...” he grinned as though the reflection afforded him some amusement ... “as a matter of fact ever since I first arrived—although I admit you were a step ahead of me over that window business ... and she’s made no attempt at communication with anybody. She’s cute enough to realize that her best plan is to say and do nothing: just go about her ordinary daily duties as though nothing had happened. Also she’s scared stiff about the murder.” He glanced at us both ... almost as though he wanted us to confirm his opinion.
Then I butted in. “You’re satisfied then, Inspector, that Webb didn’t murder Prescott—despite all this evidence?”
Anthony looked searchingly at Baddeley. The Inspector’s face grew grim and hard. But he found time to answer me although I had half-suspected that he would evade the question. He chose his words carefully.