“Clinton said he knew who the murderer is. So my speculations don’t matter much. But it would have been a bad business if I’d turned suspicion on young Torrance. He might have had a lot of difficulty in clearing himself, if Clinton had taken up that line.”
Sir Clinton broke in at this moment.
“You don’t suspect Miss Forrest, I suppose!”
“No.”
All the amusement had gone out of the game, so far as Wendover was concerned; but Sir Clinton seemed to have no inkling of this, and pursued his way through the list.
“Then that leaves Costock,” he pointed out.
“I don’t think Costock did it,” Wendover declared. He felt inclined to turn his criticism into the other camp now. “What have you against Costock? Can you bring any evidence to show that he had curare in hand? Or that he had an air-gun? Or even that he was in the Maze at all at the time of the murders?”
“If that’s your line,” said Sir Clinton, with a non-committal gesture, “we’ll say no more about it. I’ll look after Costock. Now there’s one name left—Ardsley. You’d better leave Ardsley to me, Squire. You’re far too apt to see red on that subject. You couldn’t produce an unbiased view of him if you tried.”
“Have you any evidence about his movements that afternoon?” Wendover asked, perfunctorily.
Sir Clinton also seemed to have grown tired of the business.