“I think I've got an inkling of the truth,” admitted Hannasyde. “Which is why I'd rather interview Randall Matthews where I can be sure of getting him quite alone. That young man has got to be made to talk.”
But when they arrived at Randall's flat they found only Benson, who informed them, not without satisfaction, that his master was out, and not expected back until the evening.
The Sergeant, bristling with suspicion, said: “You don't say! Taken the Merc with him, by any chance?”
“If,” said Benson, with awful dignity, “you refer to the Mercedes-Benz, no, Sergeant! The car is in the garage.”
“Mr Matthews has been here, then, within the past hour?” interposed Hannasyde.
“Certainly he has,” replied Benson. He added grudgingly: “What's more, Mr Matthews left a message in case you should call.”
“Well?”
“He will not be at home all day, but if you care to come round at nine o'clock this evening he will be happy to see you,” said Benson.
“Tell him when he comes in that I shall call at that time, then,” said Hannasyde, and moved away towards the stairs.
“And what,” demanded the Sergeant, “is my lord up to now, if I may ask?”