`You could promise him whatever he asked,' said the doctor, bluntly. `And when you got the manuscript you could give him fifty pounds and tell him to whistle for the rest because you owned it and he was the only thief. And the fifty pounds would be much less than you'd have to pay Bitton.'
`Considerably less. You state matters very succinctly, Inspector,' Arbor nodded. `I agreed to what the unknown person said, and asked him whether he had the manuscript. He replied that he had, and again demanded how much I should pay for it. I mentioned rather a large sum. He agreed, and stated that he would name a rendezvous in the course of the next day. I was to be communicated with through the Spenglers. His stipulation was that I must never inquire into his identity.'
`Well?' prompted the doctor.
`Naturally I attempted to trace the call, when he had hung up. It was impossible.' `Go on.'
Arbor glanced over his shoulder. The nervousness had come back again.
`The following day, today, I went about my affairs as usual. I paid a long-delayed visit to the Tower of London; And, I proceeded exactly as I have told you. When I was detained on my attempt to leave by the news of the murder, I was not unduly upset. I thought, indeed, that it would be, fascinating to watch Scotland Yard at work, and I assumed that it was some member of the underworld who had been killed.'
Again Arbor adjusted his glasses. `You will own, Inspector, that it came as a shock when you began your questioning of me by inquiring about Poe manuscripts. Even so, I flatter myself, that I was cool and… you will pardon me… triumphant over you. It was not until you mentioned the name of the dead man that He drew out the silk handkerchief and mopped his forehead. `My heart, Inspector; I could not see it would make me betray weakness. The possibilities had suddenly become menacing and horrible. Driscoll, at my order, had promised to deliver me that manuscript; and now he was murdered. I must assume even now that he was killed because of it. It occurred to me that in some heinous fashion, I might come into the case as accessory of some sort. A murder case.' He shuddered. `I could not see how it might concern me directly, but there were any number of dangers. And where was the manuscript? You had not found it on Driscoll's body. I wanted to forget it. As you saw, I wanted no search for it, above all things, because a search might uncover evidence to lead to me.'
`So far,' said the doctor, `very well. What then?'
Rampole was puzzled. If the doctor had insisted on anything in the case so far, he had insisted Driscoll would never attempt to dispose of the manuscript to Arbor. But here he was, nodding ponderously and fixing his sharp little eyes on the collector as though he believed every word. And Rampole, too, was compelled to believe Arbor. There was only the possible explanation that Driscoll, in a moment of panic, had made to Arbor an offer whose dangers he saw in a calmer moment the next day, and decided to drop the whole affair….
`Now,' said Arbor, clearing his throat now, Inspector, I come to the amazing, the incredible part of my whole story.. If you could have imagined'…!’