Chapter IX.
Walter Brooklyn’s Explanation
Inspector Blaikie made a hasty meal, and then set off for Walter Brooklyn’s club. He found Mr. Brooklyn there, and was soon alone with him in a private room. Before the inspector could even introduce himself and state his business, he found the offensive turned against himself. He had thought over the interview carefully beforehand, and had made up his mind that, whatever his private opinion might be, it was his duty to hear, without prejudice, whatever Walter Brooklyn had to say, and to put aside for the moment all suspicions, resting only on the undoubted fact that the man had been present in the house that night. He might be able to explain his presence, or he might not. The interview would show. Till the chance had been given, the inspector was determined to keep an open mind.
But the conversation did not begin at all as he had anticipated. As he got out the first few words about the purpose for which he had asked for an interview, Walter Brooklyn struck in abruptly.
“See here, inspector, I fail to see that it is any of your business to come nosing about in my affairs. I find you have been asking the porter downstairs a whole lot of questions. From your manner, the fellow has jumped to the conclusion that you suspect me of having had a hand in these murders. You’ve set all the servants simmering, and by now it’s all round the club that I murdered my nephew or something like it. I tell you I’m damned if I’ll stand it. Blast your impudence. Since you have come here, I think you owe me an explanation.”
Walter Brooklyn’s manner seemed to the inspector quite extraordinarily violent. But he noticed something else while Brooklyn was speaking—the man’s amazing physical strength. He could not be less than sixty; but as he stood there, in a half-threatening attitude—with difficulty, it seemed, holding himself in—Inspector Blaikie could not help thinking that here was the very figure of a man to have struck the blows on both the dead men’s skulls. Here, moreover, was a man, obviously passionate and lacking in self-control—just the sort of person to resort to violence if his will were crossed. The inspector’s open mind was rapidly closing up before Brooklyn had finished his first speech. Nevertheless, he answered quietly enough,—
“I am sorry, Mr. Brooklyn, if any of my inquiries have caused you inconvenience. But you must understand that it is my duty to investigate these murders, and to ask any questions that may be necessary for that purpose. You apparently know——”
But here again Walter Brooklyn struck in.
“Necessary inquiries, of course,” he said. “But what I want to know is what you mean by coming round here and practically telling my club servants that I have committed murder. Necessary inquiries, indeed!”
“If you know, Mr. Brooklyn, what was the matter of my conversation with the club servants, you can hardly fail to realise why the inquiries were necessary.”
“Most certainly I fail to see it. These murders have nothing to do with me.”