“And that’s that. Have you seen his papers?”
“Better come up to the house, sir. His solicitor will be there. But I understand there’s nothing in them. Very few private papers at all.”
“Well, well. I suppose he was murdered.”
Superintendent Bell stared. “Mr. Lomas said you were harping on that. Pretty clear, sir, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” said Reggie drearily. “But it’s all wrong, Bell, it’s all wrong.”
At the dead man’s house, his solicitor, old Sir Thomas Long, was busy in the library, and helping him, to Reggie’s surprise, was Herbert Charlecote. Herbert revealed himself as a pallid, dandyish man, punctiliously polite. Colourless—Dr. Newton hit him off to the life.
Herbert was very gratified to make Mr. Fortune’s acquaintance.
“I don’t know whether to hope you can throw any light on this miserable affair, sir?”
Reggie shook his head. “Your uncle was stabbed, and died immediately of the wounds. That is the whole case, Mr. Charlecote. I suppose you can’t help us?”
“I am bewildered. Quite dazed, Mr. Fortune.”