“You will see that this is not touched,” he said to one of the men; and then to the other, “You had better go round to Vine Street and report this—stay, I will go myself.”
As Jimmy and he stepped briskly in the direction of the historic police station, Angel expressed himself tersely.
“Connor came on his own to burgle; he was surprised by a third party, who, thinking Connor was myself, shot him.”
“That is how I read it,” said Jimmy. “But why did Connor come?”
“I have been expecting Connor,” said Angel quietly. “He was not the sort of man to be cowed by the fear of arrest. He had got it into his head that I had got the secret of the safe, and he came to find out.”
Inside the station the inspector on duty saluted him.
“We have one of your men inside,” he said pleasantly, referring to the Frenchman; then, noticing the grave faces of the two, he added, “Is anything wrong, sir?”
Briefly enough the detective gave an account of what had happened in Jermyn Street. He added his instructions concerning the table, and left as the inspector was summoning the divisional surgeon.
“I wonder where we could find Spedding?” asked Angel.
“I wonder where Spedding will find us?” added Jimmy grimly.