“Most fortunate that Driffield was on the spot, wasn’t it? He’ll get to the bottom of things quick enough; trust him for that. He used to be out in South Africa; a big post in the police there. Then he came home for family reasons and dropped into the Chief Constableship here. Much too good a man for the place, you know; but it gives him enough to keep him busy. By the way, he knew something about Roger Shandon out at the Cape.”
“I believe Shandon made part of his money there,” Stenness volunteered in confirmation.
As they entered Helen’s Bower, Stenness saw a momentary upward twitch of Sir Clinton’s eyebrows as his glance lighted on the stranger whom they had encountered in the Maze.
“Ah! Mr. Timothy Costock?”
The captive showed much more surprise.
“Why, it’s Driffield, so it is! Well, if that isn’t the damnedest luck. There’s no keepin’ out o’ the way o’ you busies, it seems. But you’re on the wrong track this shot. I never laid a finger on this fellow.”
He indicated Roger Shandon’s body as he spoke.
“Nobody’s accused you of laying a finger on him. Or of anything else—yet,” said Sir Clinton, curtly. “I’ll listen to your story later on. Don’t waste time elaborating it. You’ll find the plain truth’s best. This is more serious than illicit diamond buying.”
He paused for an instant, then continued:
“Now I think of it, you were Shandon’s cat’s paw that time I got my hands on you at Kimberley.”