“But the fellow might bolt in the meanwhile.”
“He may—assuming he’s one of the house crowd. But if he’s one of them, he’ll have to be fairly smart. I’ve got photographs of all the ones who were at the Maze—took them under pretence of needing someone to give the scale in the pictures. A photograph’s better than a description, you know.”
Wendover was silent for a few seconds.
“I suppose you’re going to Ardsley about the poison on the darts?”
“Partly that, partly to gather impressions, if you must know.”
“Oh, well, he ought to be able to spot the thing for you. They say he’s written a book on poisonology or whatever they call it.”
“Toxicology is the word you’re dredging for, I think.”
“Well, toxicology, then. That reminds me, do you think . . .”
“Never. Quite against my strictest principles. To-morrow I shall spend a penny on the local paper. I shall read up what the crime expert in it has got to say. Then I shall know all about it. Why should I bother to think?”
Wendover thought that he had surprised the Chief Constable’s subject of speculation. In spite of the hints he had received, he persisted in his probing.