“We’ve found out any amount the police don’t know, anyhow.”
“Yes. Amateur detectives always do—in the novels. I prefer to say what I have to say at the proper time to the police. It saves complications.”
“But, Sir John, the police are absolutely wrong about this. If you will tell me what you know, I will undertake that the police shall be fully informed within the next few days.”
“And why not now, young man? Because you want to do it all yourself. Is that it?”
“Perhaps it is, and perhaps it isn’t, Sir John. But you know best. Let’s telephone to the police to send some one round here, and you can tell them and me together.”
“And have the police worrying round here all day till heavens knows when. No, thank you, young man.” Sir John paused, and then went on suddenly. “I suppose you’re going to marry that Cowper girl.”
“I don’t think that is any business of yours, Sir John. But I have no objection to telling you that we are engaged to be married.”
“Tut, tut, don’t lose your temper, boy. I’m just going to tell you all about it. Woodman came to see me the other night at my club—no, not the Byron: Foster’s, at the corner of Clarges Street. That was at nine o’clock, by my appointment. He was with me for an hour, discussing that loan you seem to know all about. He told me just what I told Sir Vernon in my letter, that Walter Brooklyn had made a will in his favour, and that they were prepared to sign their joint names to a bill. He said that made the loan perfectly safe, on the strength of their expectations from Sir Vernon. That was all he told me.”
Sir John stopped.
“Is that all you know?” asked Ellery, with an air of disappointment.