Hardly had Joan and Ellery passed from the outer office into Woodman’s private room when the inspector entered the room they had left, and asked if Mr. Woodman was in. Moorman, who had met the inspector several times lately, saw nothing strange in the visit, and merely replied that his employer was in, but that he was at the moment engaged. “If you care to wait, sir, I dare say he won’t be long.”
Blaikie said that he would wait, and Moorman thereupon suggested that he should go in and tell his principal that the inspector was there. But the inspector told him not to bother: he would take his chance when Woodman was free. He sat down, therefore, to wait in the outer office, improving the minutes by conversing with the loquacious old clerk about his employer’s affairs.
Meanwhile, Joan and Ellery were seated with Carter Woodman. He had greeted them rather effusively on their entrance; and, in Moorman’s presence, they had thought it best to shake hands and behave as if nothing were the matter. Woodman had placed chairs for them, and had again sat down at his desk. While they spoke he continued for a while mechanically opening, and glancing at, the pile of letters before him.
It was Joan who spoke first. “We have come here,” she said, “because it seemed the only thing to do. When we have heard what you have to say we shall know better what our next step must be.”
Something in her voice caused Woodman to look up sharply. The tone was hard, and a glance at his two visitors showed him that their errand was not a pleasant one. But he looked down again and went on opening his letters without making any sign.
“We have to tell you,” Joan went on, “that we know now who killed John Prinsep and poor George.”
Woodman gave a start as she spoke; but all he said was, “Then, my dear Joan, you know a great deal more than I do.”
“I will put it in another way,” said Joan. “We know that you killed them.” She got the words out with an effort, breathing hard and clutching the arm of the chair as she spoke.
Woodman dropped the letter he was holding and looked straight at her.
“My dear Joan,” he said, “are you quite mad? And you too, Mr. Ellery?”