“So?” said the doctor politely.
“Give up this girl, and I rather fancy that half your danger will be at an end. I tell you, you’re too clever for me. It’s a stupid thing for a police officer to say, but I can’t get at the bottom of your snake. They have.”
The old man’s brows worked up and down.
“Indeed?” he said blandly. “And of which snake do you speak?”
Meadows said nothing more. He had given his warning: if Oberzohn did not profit thereby, he would be the loser.
Nobody doubted, least of all he, that, in defiance of all laws that man had made, independent of all the machinery of justice that human ingenuity had devised, inevitable punishment awaited Oberzohn and was near at hand.
| Chapter XXI | The Account Book |
IT was five o’clock in the morning when the mud-spattered Spanz dropped down through the mist and driving rain of the Chiltern Hills and struck the main Gloucester Road, pulling up with a jerk before Heavytree Farm. Manfred sprang out, but before he could reach the door, Aunt Alma had opened it, and by the look of her face he saw that she had not slept that night.
“Where is Digby?” he asked.
“He’s gone to interview the Chief Constable,” said Alma. “Come in, Mr. Gonsalez.”