“What’s that, Sergeant?”
“They say you’ve found out that Mr. Berlyn murdered Mr. Pyke out on the moor that night. Mrs. Billing, Pyke’s landlady, is supposed to have recognised the underclothes.”
French smiled.
“Well it’s quite true,” he admitted. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you, Sergeant, but I went off to London as soon as I discovered it. I warned Mrs. Billing not to talk, but I hardly believed she could help herself.”
The sergeant was evidently upset.
“I’m sorry about the whole thing, Mr. French. I should have thought Mr. Berlyn was the last man who would do such a thing.”
“You may be right. Indeed, it’s a matter arising out of that very point that I want to see you about. I have a notion there was a second person in it—some one who might even have taken the lead. Tell me”—French’s voice became very confidential—“what sort of a man is Colonel Domlio?”
The sergeant looked shocked.
“Colonel Domlio?” he repeated. “Surely, sir, you don’t mean to suggest that the colonel was mixed up in a murder?”
“You don’t think it likely?”