`Er — cigar?"
"Ah!" said Masters voluptuously. The chief inspector lowered himself with careful motions to the edge of the sofa, and accepted a cup. Bennett felt a blast of pleasant sanity coming through the miasma. "Now, here's how it is," Masters went on in a confidential tone. "I won't detain you long, because I must go down to that pavilion. But first I wanted to establish relations. In a manner of speaking. Eh? Exactly. Now I won't conceal from you," he proceeded, again as though he were imparting a confidence, "that this case is going to create a stir. It's likely the Yard will be asked to take it up. And I want to establish relations with somebody Sir Henry said I could trust. Very useful. I'm a very suspicious man, Mr. Bennett." Despite his beaming shake of the head, the other felt that the shrewd eyes were ticketing his appearance and missing no detail.
"You've worked with Sir Henry before, haven't you?"
"A lot" the chief inspector murmured, and stared at his cup. "Why, as to that, yes. I should be inclined to say that I did the working and he did the thinking." There was the suggestion of a wink about one eye. "You mustn't mind Sir Henry, Mr. Bennett. He grouses and grouses, until he forgets his firm belief that he's got to grouse; then he goes to work on the thing like a kid building a card-house. And before you know it his case is complete and he's grousing again. Eh? I owe him quite a lot, and that's a fact. But the messes he becomes involved with are a bit too strenuous for me. I don't like these things that couldn't have happened yet did happen. Like Darworth's murder in the stone house..:'*
It was impossible for the man to know what he was thinking about, but, as he met the small bright eye that was shifted round on him, Bennett felt his old doubts.
He said: "I only hope you haven't got another such case. Damn it, you can't have! It depends on the time a woman died."
Masters bent forward.
"Just so. Now, there was certain information given to Inspector Potter over the phone. It was to the effect that you had just driven down from London," he darted a glance at Bennett's crumpled collar and tie, "and you and Mr. John Bohun discovered the body. Eh?"
"Yes, that's right. -Well, more or less. He got there two or three minutes before I did."
"'More or less.' Now, suppose you tell me what happened. Tell me in your own words," suggested Masters, rather superfluouly, "what happened. With details." He lit his cigar carefully, and listened with a wooden face while Bennett spoke. Only towards the end did he seem to grow disturbed. "Now, now!" he urged, sharply. "Now, come! Let's be certain. Only one set of tracks going in (Mr. John Bohun's), and none coming out?"