“That’s been tried,” Vail informed her. “But the secret can’t be learned that way. There’s an unknown ingredient, or the things are put together in some unknown order or way,—but no one has yet been able to imitate successfully the Binney Bun. I’m a bread man, and I know that.”
“Well, if you’ve struck off Crippen’s name, where do we stand?” Richard said, looking gloomily at Wise.
“We stand pat for the women,” the detective declared. “And I have from the first. I can’t doubt or disbelieve a dying statement,—can you, Mr Vail?”
“Surely not. That is, on general principles. But if this pursuit of women leads to——”
“No matter where it leads,” Pennington Wise said, firmly, “the trail must be followed up. Murder demands a life for a life. The danger is that suspicion may be directed toward the wrong women. But that is our great care, and I can’t think it will happen.”
“It must not happen,” said Vail, sharply, and, with a sympathetic glance at Richard Bates, he went away.
“Now, Mr Bates,” said Wise as the others returned to the sitting-room and closed the door, “I’ve been pretty busy and I’ve some good news for you. I think we can say positively there is no danger of suspicion coming to rest on your aunt or her companion, Miss Gurney.”
“Thank God,” cried Richard fervently.
“The matter of the paper-knife is, I think, just as Miss Prall explained it; she did give it to Sir Herbert to be mended, and he did have it in his pocket the night he was killed.”
“And the assailant did use it?” asked Zizi.