“I’ve been doing quite a lot of that lately, Mr. Bathurst—what’s the latest development?”
“Have a glance at the Personal Column of the ‘Telegraph’ for the 30th of last month—see what you make of it!”
“All right,” assented the Inspector. “What else?”
“I want you to come down to Assynton with me on Monday morning. There’s a train at a quarter to eleven. I’ve just heard from Mr. Daventry that Mr. Stewart’s solicitor from New York is expected down there and I’m required to be there as well. It isn’t putting me out at all, because it was my intention to return then—I dare not delay action much longer. I’ll meet you then at Paddington.”
“I hope to be in a position to report some progress this end by that time,” declared Goodall, in a tone of voice not exactly distinguished by hopefulness.
“I hope so too, Goodall,” added Anthony, “but never mind if you aren’t. I forgot to tell you something! When you come down on Monday—bring a couple of pairs of handcuffs, will you?” He chuckled, and put the receiver back with the fervent wish that he could have witnessed the expression on the Inspector’s face. It was during the week-end that followed that an idea began to take very definite shape in Mr. Bathurst’s brain. In fact, so definite did it become that he was sorely tempted more than once to put a telephone call through to Assynton. But he desisted—there would be plenty of time on the morrow—and there was more important work to be done than the solving of the problem of the “Black Twenty-Two”! Goodall was straining at the leash, eager and impatient to land his man—to land his men in both affairs. Goodall should be satisfied!
When he met him in the morning at Paddington, Anthony could see that the Inspector was looking very finely-drawn. Anthony touched him on the arm. “Don’t worry, Inspector,” he exclaimed with a note of gaiety in his voice, “the curtain is just going up for those third and fourth acts I mentioned, and you and I are not going to miss any of it. Also, Inspector,” he grinned broadly, “the bouquets will be for you when it goes down—so possess your soul in patience and wait for that ‘soothsome’ moment—that ‘fragrant minute.’ ”
Goodall’s eyes twinkled—not necessarily in anticipation of the coming event as depicted by Mr. Bathurst. “Bouquets aren’t much in my line! Still, I’ve brought what you asked me.” He patted his left-hand pocket with the palm of his hand. “Optimist—aren’t I?”
“Good man,” said Anthony, “for you’ll certainly want them. By the way—any news from New York yet?”
“I’ve got on to them, but there’s no news as yet!”