“That’s where you’re wrong, Wendover. That’s a mistake. I was curious about the thing, it seemed to me so funny. So I looked up the counterfoil of that missing cheque in Roger’s stub; and it was a cheque for some hundreds and it was made payable to his stockbrokers. That seemed funnier than ever, didn’t it? A cheque like that would go right back to the bank with no delay. It would be paid in immediately, I’m sure it would. Wouldn’t it? Of course, sure to be, you know?”
Sir Clinton had been following this with keen interest.
“And where does Mr. Stenness come in?” he asked. Ernest looked round the room again as though he feared that Stenness might be concealed somewhere.
“Well,” he said, reluctantly, “Stenness had access to Roger’s papers. He could have got at this cheque-book, I’m sure. Roger was a bit careless, sometimes. I’ve seen his cheque-book lying about on the table often. I remember I saw it last Tuesday, was it? Or was it Wednesday? It was in the morning, I know that.”
Sir Clinton’s face showed uncommon interest now.
“And you think . . .?” he prompted.
Ernest poured out another stiff glass of whiskey, this time unchecked by anyone.
“I can’t say I think anything, really. I shouldn’t like to go so far as that, you understand. That might be going too far. But I let slip to you that I’d found something funny amongst the cheques, last night. I mean I told you this morning what I’d found last night. Or rather . . .”
“I understand,” said Sir Clinton, rescuing him from his tangle. “And . . .?”
“And Stenness was there when I mentioned it. He knew I’d found some hanky-panky.”