“As I was driving up, it suddenly struck me that we'd left all these tracks on the sand, and that when everything came out our footprints would be evidence connecting us with the business. So I made up my mind—I'm being perfectly frank with you—I made up my mind that after I'd dropped my wife at the hotel I'd take the car back again and see if Staveley was alive, If he wasn't, then I'd make hay of our tracks—rub 'em out somehow and get clear away if possible. Then it occurred to me that Staveley alive would be better than Staveley dead. If he was only hurt, then the whole affair might be hushed up somehow. Apart from that, frankly, I'd rather have had him dead. Anyhow, when I got to the hotel I bolted upstairs to my room to get a flask of brandy I keep for emergencies. I meant to revive him if he was alive, you see? And in sprinting downstairs again I slipped and crocked myself, and that finished any chance of getting down to the beach again. I'd left the car outside, of course, meaning to take it to the garage later on, after I'd been down to fix things up on the beach.”
“That seems clear enough,” Sir Clinton said in a tone which suggested that he had got all the information he wanted. “Have you any questions to ask, inspector?”
“There's just one point,” Armadale explained. “Did you see anyone except Staveley between the hotel and the rock, either going or coming?”
Stanley Fleetwood shook his head.
“I saw nobody at all. Naturally I kept a sharp look-out on the way home.”
Sir Clinton indicated that, so far as he was concerned, the matter was ended. As if to make this still clearer, he turned to the lawyer, Calder, who had taken practically no part in the proceedings.
“Are you by any chance Mr. Fordingbridge's lawyer?”
Calder seemed somewhat surprised by the question.
“My firm has had charge of the legal affairs of the Fordingbridge family for more than a generation,” he explained a little stiffly. “But I don't see what that has to do with this business.”
Sir Clinton ignored the stiffness.