“Yes. Yes. Seems to be a quiet street where you live.”
“Vinton Place—it’s a little cul-de-sac.”
“It was dark when he left? And you heard nothing? Yes. I wonder who his money goes to?”
“What the devil do you mean?” Geoffrey cried.
“Well, that’s quite a fair question,” said Reggie Fortune placidly. “If I’m actin’ for you, and if you like, I will, I look only to your interests. If I’m acting for Scotland Yard—and if it’s a hard case, they’ll call me in—I’m only concerned to get the truth out, whoever suffers.”
“And do you think I don’t want the truth?” Geoffrey cried. “What are you hinting at? Do you mean I murdered him?”
“Preserve absolute calm,” said Reggie Fortune.
“I’m not calm. What a beast I should be if I was calm. I want the thing cleared up, man. I want my father to have justice. Whether you act for me or act for the police it’s the same thing.”
“If you take it that way, I’ll act for the police, Beaver,” said Reggie placidly.
Geoffrey Charlecote stared at him. “That’s enough, thanks,” he said. “Stop the car. I won’t worry you any more, Mr. Fortune.”