“Very well, Miss Cowper. I see that you do know, and that there is some truth in the story. Can you say that there is not?”
“I prefer not to say anything.”
“That will do. I see your point, Mr. Thomas. This certainly provides what we have been seeking—a possible motive for Mr. Prinsep’s murder. But, of course, it is merely a possible indication. There is no evidence against Winter, as far as I am aware.”
“That, Mr. Superintendent, is entirely your business. I merely gave you what information I had gathered. Tracking down the criminal is fortunately no concern of mine.”
“Quite so. And that is the whole of your information?”
“Yes. Apart from that I know no more than you know already.”
“Then I can only thank you for the help you have given; and assure you that everything possible shall be done to expedite your client’s release. And, by the way, you had better say nothing to any one else of what you have just told me.” And thereupon, with the skill born of long practice, the superintendent bowed his visitors out of the room. To Inspector Blaikie he spoke a word, asking him to remain for a few minutes’ discussion.
Joan’s indignation burst forth as soon as she was outside the building. She was particularly angry with Thomas.
“I call it abominable. We have just succeeded in clearing one innocent man, whom an hour or two ago you believed to be guilty: and now you are wantonly throwing suspicion on some one else. What business is it of yours? I know Winter had nothing to do with it.”
“That is all very well, Miss Cowper; but it was my duty to tell the police, and, moreover, by doing so, I probably speeded up Mr. Brooklyn’s release by at least twenty-four hours. It is always wise to have the police on your side—when you can.”