“Very likely, though it might take time.”
“Then I'll get permission, one way or another. I suppose any papers will be at his house in London?”
“Probably.”
“Then I'll go up to town with you this afternoon, Mr. Calder, and we'll look into things with your help.”
The lawyer made no comment on the suggestion, and, as Sir Clinton showed no desire to detain him further, he went back to his clients. As soon as his back was turned, Armadale swung round on Wendover.
“I see what you're driving at now, sir,” he declared in a rather scornful tone. “You think she'll get off on a manslaughter charge instead of a murder case. And, of course, if it's merely manslaughter, she's a nice-looking girl with a hard-luck story ready, and you're counting on a sympathetic jury to bring in a verdict that'll amount to an acquittal. That's it, isn't it?”
Wendover was genuinely amused.
“That's deuced ingenious of you, inspector,” he admitted. “I hadn't thought of it in that light at all.”
“Oh, hadn't you?” Armadale replied. “Well, in any case, you needn't count much on it. What's the evidence in favour of it? Nothing but a prepared statement by the accused and her accomplice, backed by a sharp lawyer. Any prosecutor would make hay of it in five minutes so far as credibility goes.”
“I'm not depending on her statement, inspector. I had the whole affair cut and dried in my mind before she opened her lips. All that her statement did was to confirm my ideas on every point. Your case is a complete wash-out.”