“Away for the night,” answered the Sergeant. “Expected back this morning.”
“I see. If Hollis turns up while I'm gone, tell him to take the pistol for fingerprints, and to go over the likely places in this room, and the hall, and the bathroom. I shan't be long, I hope.”
He went out as he spoke, and the Sergeant and Giles Carrington were left to entertain one another until he returned. Sergeant Hollis arrived five minutes later, and Giles, watching him set to work, said: “Well, this is interesting, anyway. Do you think you could do the telephone first, Sergeant? It dawns on me that I had better ring up my office and tell them I'm frying other fish this morning.”
“Wasting your time a bit, aren't we, sir?” said Hemingway sympathetically. “It's routine work, this. I'd be willing to bet a fiver we don't get a single print, unless it might be on that cartridge-case.”
Giles had just concluded a conversation with the elder Carrington (who said explosively that if Giles meant to spend all day and every day in his cousins' pockets the sooner they were all wiped out the better it would be) when Hannasyde came back into the room. He paused for a moment, watching Hollis, and then glanced towards Giles. “Sorry to keep you hanging about like this. I'm going to Chelsea now. There's no reason for you to come if you don't want to, you know.”
“I'm coming, if only to see fair play,” said Giles. “Any luck with the Musketts?”
“Rather dubious. One thing I have ascertained: the man the porter saw was not young Muskett. He came in at six-thirty last night and didn't go out again. Somewhere around about eleven he heard a noise which he thought was a car back-firing. The trouble is it may well have been.” He turned to Hemingway. “I'm leaving you here, Sergeant; you know what to do. I'll see you at the Yard. If you're ready, Mr Carrington, let's go.”
Chapter Nineteen
The journey to Chelsea was accomplished in Giles Carrington's car. The Superintendent cast a quick look at his face as he settled down beside him, and said: “I'm afraid this is rather a nasty case for you, Mr Carrington.”
“It's a very nasty case indeed,” said Giles calmly. “Not particularly for me.” He changed into second gear, and then into top. “I see whither your thoughts are tending, of course; but you'll hardly expect me to believe that a cousin - or, to be strictly accurate, a connection of mine - would be capable of committing so cold-blooded a murder.”