“Very well, Mr. Ellery. But I had better tell you that I already have full knowledge of the truth. That is why I am here. You and the young lady here had much better make a clean breast of it.”
“Don’t you think, superintendent, that you had better deal with one thing at a time? Surely, for the moment, this dead man claims your attention. You know where to find us if you want us. I shall take Miss Cowper home.”
“By all means, Mr. Ellery. There is work for me here. But I shall have to call on you both later in the day. Could I meet you—say at Liskeard House—about six o’clock?”
“Oh, if that’s the attitude you take, I suppose we’d better have it out now.”
“That will be best, I think.” Then Superintendent Wilson turned to the inspector, who had not recovered from his amazement at the miraculous appearance of his superior. The superintendent pointed to Woodman’s body. “Call in your men and have that thing removed. Then we can say what we have to say.”
So, when the body had been taken away, Joan and Ellery found themselves face to face with Superintendent Wilson. “I will tell you what I know,” he said, “and then I think you will see the wisdom of letting me hear your story. But first there is one thing I must do.”
Going to Woodman’s desk, he took from his pocket-book the scraps of paper which he had found, and rapidly compared them with other specimens of Woodman’s handwriting. “Just as I thought,” he said, “and now I am ready.”
“Fire away, then,” said Ellery.
“Well, it was clear enough to me, from an early stage in the case—even before you confirmed my view with your very convincing alibi, that Mr. Walter Brooklyn was not the murderer. That was the assumption on which I set to work.”
“May I ask why?” said Joan. “Of course, I knew he hadn’t done it; but what made you——?”