"Very decent. But of course I couldn't explain the thing. I'm sending in my papers."
Wimsey nodded. Colonel Frobisher could scarcely overlook an attempted fraud—not after things had been said in the papers.
"If I'd only let the old man alone. Too late now. He'd have been buried. Nobody would have asked questions."
"I didn't want to interfere," said Wimsey, defending himself against the unspoken reproach.
"Oh, I know. I'm not blaming you. People ... money oughtn't to depend on people's deaths ... old people, with no use for their lives ... it's a devil of a temptation. Look here, Wimsey, what are we to do about this woman?"
"The Munns female?"
"Yes. It's the devil and all she should have got hold of the stuff. If they find out what it's supposed to be, we shall be blackmailed for the rest of our lives."
"No," said Wimsey, "I'm sorry, old man, but the police have got to know about it."
Robert sprang to his feet.
"My God!—you wouldn't——"