Anthony laughed. “Proving my theories, Sir Charles, that’s all! And I was lucky.”
“Well, I congratulate you then, as a combination—we’ll leave it at that. By the way, Baddeley, you didn’t answer me about the pearls. What do you really think?”
“I’m going to put a suggestion in front of you directly, Sir Charles, that will answer that question for you. Have most of your guests gone?”
“Yes, Inspector; as sanctioned by you, after your little round of interrogations this morning, they have all departed for their homes. No good purpose could have been served by their staying. I have a list of their present addresses for you. Mr. Cunningham and Mr. Bathurst, and my daughter and son-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Arkwright, will stay on. That is to say, for a time. Well, Fitch, what is it?”
The butler had approached him.
“Your pardon, Sir Charles, but there’s a newspaper man here wishes to speak to you. Here’s his card.”
Sir Charles took it. “Sydney Dennison. The Morning Message. A London reporter, gentlemen,” he announced. “Shall I?...”
Baddeley cut in. “Have him in, Sir Charles, won’t do any harm.”
A fresh-faced young fellow came in and bowed to us.
“Sorry to disturb you gentlemen, but I’ve motored down from London.... Can you give me any details of what has taken place here?”