“Yes,” admitted the man candidly. “I had too much at stake not to take all the means in my power to safeguard my interests. And a few days before the murder you urged your brother to write to Mr. Sorley and make an appointment for the thirteenth of November.”
“Ah!” murmured Moon, making a note, “the night of the death.”
“Yes! yes! yes!” cried Sorley, his voice growing stronger; “I got that letter, and wrote an answer saying that I would come.”
“Jotty found the answer,” put in Alan quickly, “and sold it to me for two pounds. Mr. Latimer passed it on to you, Mr. Inspector.”
Moon nodded. “I have it at my office. Go on, sir.”
“Miss Grison—as I overheard—urged her brother to make this appointment with Mr. Sorley, and then tell him that the peacock was to be given to me.”
“Ah!” cried the woman sarcastically, “and yet you say that I urged my brother not to give it you. You contradict yourself.”
“I am not responsible for your frequent changes of mind,” said Bakche in chilly tones, “sometimes you told your brother to make terms with me so that Mr. Sorley—whom you seemed to hate—might be disappointed, and then you tried to prevent him even seeing me, let alone handing over the peacock. But you got him to make the appointment for the night of the murder with Mr. Sorley, that I’ll swear to. There was another thing that I overheard. Your brother confessed with tears and terror that he had murdered that gentleman to rob him outside Chin Chow’s opium den.”
“What if he did?” said Miss Grison boldly.
“You blamed him for the shame he was bringing on your name.”