“Go on, Mr. Linnell,” said the Inspector. “You said his instructions to your firm were ‘peculiar’—that was the adjective you used. I reckon you’ve some more to tell us.”
Here young Forshaw broke in. “The gentleman who called here yesterday—a Mr. Daventry—he was a representative of your firm, I think?”
“Quite correct,” affirmed Linnell. “My partner! My only partner, I should have said.”
Goodall swung round on to Forshaw Junior. “Called here yesterday? What about?” he grumbled in his deep voice.
“The Mary, Queen of Scots’ stuff.” Goodall looked a trifle annoyed.
“You didn’t tell me,” he muttered. “Why didn’t you?”
“I simply haven’t had a chance yet,” came the reply with just a hint of rebellious obstinacy, “you’ve been doing best part of the talking. I should have told you though before you’d finished.” Forshaw shrugged his shoulders.
Goodall glared—then reverted to Linnell. “Fire away, Mr. Linnell. What exactly were your instructions?”
“Yesterday morning I received a letter from the gentleman I just mentioned—Laurence P. Stewart—authorizing me to buy the three articles that you have just informed me have been stolen—er—numbers 37, 38 and 39 in the sale catalogue.”
“Well?” rapped Goodall—“I can’t see anything . . .”