“We’re going back to the Grange, now,” Sir Clinton explained. “If you need me, you’ve only to ring up.”
“I thought you were in a hurry,” Wendover said in some surprise when he found that Sir Clinton seemed to have nothing on hand on their return to the Grange. “You broke off your talk with Stenness on that excuse. Why not have finished it at the time, instead of trailing over there again later in the day?”
“I’m worried about Miss Hawkhurst, Squire; and I prefer to get my news direct from Ardsley rather than over the ’phone.”
“You didn’t get much out of him this morning,” Wendover complained. “And I can’t think why you put that man into the business at all. It seems to me tempting Providence. Why, he’s quite possibly the source of the original curare, for all you know; he’s one of the suspects.”
“He’s not on my list of suspects, Squire; and if he’s on yours, you may score him off straight away. That’s definite. As to my using him, who could do the work better? What would a country G.P. make of Miss Hawkhurst’s case? Nothing whatever! You can’t expect rural medicos to be the last word in the study of out-of-the-way poisons. It’s not reasonable to ask it.”
Wendover’s increasing disquietude found its relief in speech at last.
“I can’t see what your aim is in this affair, Clinton. You say you know the murderer. Why don’t you arrest him at once? You claimed to know him days ago; and yet you did nothing. And now you’ve let things drift; and the result has been this attack on Sylvia Hawkhurst. Why, you’re responsible for that! You were criminally careless with these poison darts, leaving them lying about for anyone to pick up.”
Sir Clinton made no defence. Instead, he turned Wendover’s vehemence into another channel.
“It’s easy to say ‘Arrest somebody!’ Suppose you were in my shoes, Squire, and you wanted to be absolutely on the safe side; whom would you arrest at this very moment?”
Under the spur of the direct question, Wendover had a flash of illumination.