`I presume he has been informed of my purchase of the manuscript?' inquired Arbor.
`He has. But it doesn't matter now, you know. Neither of you will ever have it. It's burnt.'
The man's finger darted to his eyeglasses to keep them on. He said: `You mean… he… somebody… that is.' Arbor made an uncertain gesture. `How was it destroyed? This is terrible, Inspector!'
The doctor drew out his pocket-book. Carefully he took from it the only part of the manuscript which remained, and stood weighing it thoughtfully.
`May. I… may I see that, Inspector?'
He took the flimsy strip of paper in unsteady hands and held it close under the pink shaded lamp. For some time he studied it, back and front. Then he looked up. `Undoubtedly… ah.. undoubtedly. Inspector, this is an outrage, you know! I own this.'
`Is it worth anything now?'
`Well…'
`I see that there's some hope for you, then. Now, I'll tell you how it is, Arbor,' said Dr Fell, in an argumentative voice suggestive of the elder Weller. `If I were in your shoes, I should take that bit of paper, and put it in my pocket, and forget all about it for the present. You're in enough trouble as it is.'
`Trouble?' demanded Arbor, in rather too challenging a voice. The way he held the paper reminded Rampole of a man with stage-fright holding his notes on a lecture platform; calm in every way except that betraying flutter of the paper,