“A dead end, Mr. Bathurst!”
Mr. Bathurst complimented his companion upon the particular aptness of his reply, but was assured with transparent sincerity that it had been unintentional. How far had the Inspector taken the line of his investigation?
“It was a commonplace brand of cigar—sold most probably in a ‘pub’—to trace it would entail a long and arduous task—and then might prove to be unilluminative. I abandoned the idea!”
Then the Inspector was not at work on it this morning?
“No, as I indicated, I’m desirous of having another interview with Major Hornby. Are you leaving Considine for good?”
Mr. Bathurst was most certainly doing nothing of the kind. He was merely paying a visit to a friend. He was returning to Considine that evening—all being well.
“A great weight of what I will term—police opinion is in favor of charging Webb and his wife with the murder of Mr. Prescott. Up to the moment I have stalled them off. I don’t think Webb’s the man. That shoe-lace business doesn’t spell Webb to my way of thinking, and as for the lace found in the ‘Spider’s’ pocket—one lace is very like another.”
Mr. Bathurst assented. But was rather surprised that Webb had not yet been charged with the murder.
“I’m not denying that a very strong ‘prima facie’ case could be made against him,” said Baddeley—“because it undoubtedly could.”
“Had Webb an alibi from any time of the fatal night?” asked Mr. Bathurst.