Keeley Moore gave Griscom a stare of decided interest. It was evident he thought the man knew rather more than he had credited him with.
Farrell and Hart were not so well pleased, apparently. They frowned a little, and the Inspector advised the butler not to exceed his orders or overstep his privileges.
And then it was lunch time, and Keeley, remembering his wife’s hint of blackberry shortcake, decided we must go home at once.
“I want to think matters over a bit,” he said to the police officers. “If you want me here, I will come when summoned, but otherwise I’ll stay at home this afternoon. When will you have the inquest, Doctor Hart?”
“To-morrow,” said the Coroner. “Though it will probably have to be adjourned. I confess I’m in a quandary. I scarcely know which way to look. You know I am relying on your help, Mr. Moore.”
“I’ll help all I can,” Kee said, gravely. “But I think you’ve got a hard nut to crack.”
“You mean the locked room——”
“No, I don’t mean the locked room. That will explain itself, once you get the criminal.”
“Then you mean all these bizarre clues we have to deal with.”
“No, I don’t mean those, either. The finding of the criminal will wipe those out at once. It’s the hunt that is hard. The quarry is elusive and hard to track. Find the motive first; that’s always a sound plan.”