"Now listen," said Woodcock, with an air of friendly if slightly bored tolerance. "The gag's all right, unnastand. It's swell. But why keep on with it? I've told you I'm not falling for it; I'm too old a bird. So why not talk business?"
"It's true, Mr. Woodcock!" Peggy insisted, clenching her hands. "Won't you see its true? We admit we don't know who was killed yet—"
"Well, well!"
"But we will know. Can't you tell us. Can't you give us a hint?"
"You'd never suspect," said Woodcock. He smiled dreamily, and looked at the roof with the expression of one who knows the answer in a guessing game that is driving all the players wild. It was having just that effect on these three. To know that the answer was locked up in the bony skull of the man before them, yet to be told coolly they were not to hear it… "I'll give you the answer," observed the Bug-powder Boy, "the moment I get the right answer back from T.G. Not before."
"I'll try," began Warren, but the other pointed out that was no guarantee.
"You don't believe," Morgan went on grimly, "that there's been a murder by the man who stole that film. Well, suppose you were convinced of it. Wait a bit now! You had your hypothesis, so at least pass an opinion on mine. Suppose there had been a murder and we could prove it, so that you'd be withholding evidence if you kept quiet. Would you tell us then?"
Woodcock lifted his shoulder, still with the pale, tolerant smile on his face. "We-el, old man! No reason why I shouldn't concede that point — in theory. Yes, indeed. If there'd been a murder done, if somebody's been killed, that would be a different thing. I sure would tell you."
"You promise that?"
"Word of honour. Now, if we can just get back to business—"