“It's no laughing matter,” said the Inspector austerely. “A wicked tongue shows a wicked nature! When he told you he had murdered his brother, I was never more shocked in my life. Even you, sir, would not talk about a thing like that as if it was a good joke!”
“Now, look here!” exclaimed Hemingway wrathfully.
“And, what is more,” continued the Inspector, paying no heed to him, “whatever I may have believed at the time, I believe him now!”
“You can believe what you like, but I'm not here to investigate the other Plenmeller's death. Carsethorn tells me there was no doubt he committed suicide, anyway.”
“Oh, he did that all right!” said Harbottle. “But, if you were to ask me, I should say this man was morally his murderer.”
“Well, he said he drove him to it, didn't he? What have you found to put you into this taking?”
“It hasn't, strictly speaking, anything to do with this case,” said Harbottle, “but I brought it along with those papers you see there, thinking you might like to read it. You'll recall that I told you Warrenby was the Coroner: well, I came upon the letter that unfortunate man wrote when he killed himself. Here it is! Now, you listen to this, sir! It's dated May 25 th of the last year—that was the night he locked himself into his bedroom and gassed himself. "Dear Gavin, This is the last letter you'll receive from me, and I don't propose ever to set eyes on you again. You only want to come here for what you can get out of me, and to goad me into losing my temper with your damned tongue, and to be maddened by you on top of all I have to suffer is too much. I've reached the end of my tether. The place will be yours sooner than you think, and when you step into my shoes you can congratulate yourself on having done your bit towards finishing me off. You will, if I know you. Yours, Walter."' Harbottle laid the sheet of paper down. “And he was right, poor gentleman! He does congratulate himself!”
Hemingway picked up the letter, and glanced at it. “Yes, well, I don't like Plenmeller any more than you do, but I call it a damned mean thing to do, gas yourself and leave a letter like this behind you! Nice for his brother to have to listen to it being read out in court!”
“You'd have thought he'd have left the district,” said Harbottle.
“I wouldn't, because, for one thing, he'd find it hard to get a price for his property here; and for another, although he may be a cold-blooded devil, he's got plenty of nerve.”