“Then that means we can hush it up.”
“I don’t know whether we can or not. But I tell you what I suggest we do. You come down with me and see Carter Woodman. We shall have to tell him what we know, and force him to admit the whole thing. Then we’ll see what he means to do—perhaps he might agree to run away to Australia, or something, before the police find out. And then we can see old Bunnery and get his advice, and decide what to do about telling them.”
Before Joan could answer this string of proposals, there came a knock at the door, and Inspector Blaikie walked into the room. Joan and Ellery evidently showed their embarrassment, for he stood looking curiously at them for a moment, and then said reassuringly that he had only come in to have a word or two, if he might. Joan asked him to sit down, and offered him a cigarette. The inspector lighted it deliberately, and then he suddenly shot a question at them.
“What is it you have told the chauffeur’s wife not to tell me?”
Joan looked quickly at Ellery, and Ellery looked at Joan; but neither of them answered.
“Come, come, Miss Cowper. You really must not try to prevent the police from getting information or you will force us to conclude that you wish to shield the murderer.”
Still Joan made no answer.
“I hope, Miss Cowper, that it is only that you and your friend have been doing a little detective work on your own, and wanted to have all the credit for yourselves. But don’t you think the time has come for telling me what you know?”
Ellery did not answer the question directly. “Look here, inspector,” he said, “you think we know all about these murders, and are trying to keep the truth from you.”
“It looks mighty like it.”