Goodall’s face brightened. “Exactly my own idea,” he exclaimed, “it was just on the cards that I called on him myself before getting my train up to town.” He stopped and thought—then swung round quickly on the two men. “And I will, Mr. Bathurst,” he declared, “I’ll come with you—if anybody can tell us anything it’s this Colonel chap.”
“Right‑o, there’s no time like the present. What about getting away now?”
“Delighted—I’ll just run back and tell Clegg.” Goodall dashed back and within a couple of minutes had made a start. “The address is ‘Neuve Chapelle’—it’s a charming bungalow, I’m given to understand, on the road to Rockinge—a matter of about four miles. The gallant Colonel, I presume, judging from the name he has given his bungalow, saw service in the European War—I expect Stewart found him an interesting and delightful neighbor.”
“No doubt,” agreed the Inspector, “I hear from Clegg that they were pretty close cronies.”
“Neuve Chapelle” was reached in an hour, and the smart maid-servant who answered their ring showed some signs of surprise at the number of the visitors. The Colonel evidently didn’t have many friends who called upon him of mornings. Goodall took upon himself the post of spokesman.
“My compliments to Colonel Leach-Fletcher,” he said, “and will you please tell him that Detective-Inspector Goodall, of Scotland Yard, would like to see him for a moment or two?”
The maid-servant looked scared and her rosy cheeks whitened a trifle. “Will you please step inside, I’ll tell my master.”
An interval of a few moments saw them ushered into what was evidently the lounge. It was altogether a charming room, furnished in irreproachable taste. A man in the early sixties was standing in the center of the room—facing them as they entered. Colonel Leach-Fletcher was a man of fine physique——round about five feet ten and weighing as far as Anthony could judge from a quick glance, somewhere in the region of fourteen stone. His manner was very decisive—some people might have described it as curt.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said rather abruptly. “I understand you wish to see me—about poor Stewart I presume?”
Goodall bowed. “These gentlemen are Mr. Anthony Bathurst and Mr. Peter Daventry—they represent Mr. Charles Stewart’s interests.”