“Don’t be silly, Bob. I’ve found out how Carter got into the house. And I’ve got the proof.” And then Joan told her story of the coach-house yard—her story which proved beyond doubt that Woodman had been on the scene of the crime.
“Well done, Joan. So that makes it certain he was here.”
“I’m really beginning to think, Bob, we’re rather clever people.”
“My dear, we’ve done the trick. Do you realise that it practically finishes our case. We’ve got enough now to be quite sure of a conviction.”
“Oh, Bob! How horrible it is when you put it that way. It has really been rather fun finding it all out; but now we’ve found out, oh, what are we to do about it?”
“The obvious thing would be to tell the police.”
“I suppose it would. But think of the trial—the horrible publicity of it. And I don’t a bit want to see Carter hanged, though he may deserve it. Think of poor Helen.”
“My dear Joan, of course you don’t. But it’s not so easy to hush up a thing like this.”
“Bob, need we tell the police? They don’t know what we’ve been doing. Must we tell them now?”
“Blest if I know, darling. But I forgot to tell you about what the old lawyer chap, Bunnery, said. He wants it hushed up all right.”