“Really.”
“Yes. And what is more, Mr. Bathurst, he is prepared to assert that when he retired for the night, the dagger had been removed from its customary resting-place on the table.”
“Removed from where he had replaced it?”
“Exactly.”
Anthony looked up and studied the Inspector’s face very seriously. “Really—Inspector. Really? This is most illuminating! Taken from the table some time during the evening—eh?” He rubbed his hands. “And do you know, Inspector—do you know—I’m not surprised.”
Baddeley flung him a quizzical glance. “The day that I surprise you, I reckon I’ll surprise myself,” he uttered laconically. “But I’ll go on. I’ve given you one piece of information that I believe you were ignorant of. Now for what happened this morning at the inquest—I fancy you heard a thing or two there for the first time? Am I right?”
Anthony pulled at his top lip with his fingers—a favorite trick of his. “You refer to the evidence of Andrew Whitney and the maid, Dennis—I presume?”
Baddeley nodded. “Whitney’s evidence was a stroke of pure good fortune for me. He had seen the account of the case in the papers, read the description of the house, Considine Manor, and knowing of course that his delay occurred in the village of Considine or thereabouts, had no difficulty in recognizing it again when he came to have a second look at it. I tell you I was glad to get my hooks into this piece of evidence, from an absolutely unimpeachable source—but when he swore that the time was past three—well, I was pretty well staggered.” He came right across to us and looked Anthony straight in the face. “Mr. Bathurst, think it over! Dr. Elliott tells us Prescott was killed somewhere about half-past one—perhaps two—‘Spider’ Webb was pulling off his little job of work round about the same time—it all seems to point to a connection between the two—yet I’m not satisfied—I can’t think what was doing in that billiard room after three o’clock that morning.” He stared broodingly at his pipe. Neither Anthony nor I broke the silence—he seemed determined to let Baddeley have his entire say without further interruption.
“So much then for Whitney’s evidence. Now we come to Annie Dennis. I am indebted to the butler—Fitch—for getting on to her. When I first questioned her she told me she could tell me nothing. Apparently she had either forgotten the incident or didn’t consider it of sufficient importance to mention. She took it to Fitch who passed it on to me—so I interviewed her. What was a man doing outside the billiard room window at that time—just after nine o’clock—on Friday evening? Once again—was it Webb—or an accomplice of Webb’s? There are too many twists and turns in this for me, Mr. Bathurst. I’m fairly staggered.”
Anthony rose and stretched his long body.