“It beats me how you tumbled to the fact that Cargill was one of the gang, though.”
Sir Clinton ignored the underlying inquiry.
“Was he the brains of the show?” he asked. “I've only a suspicion to go on there.”
“Yes, he did the planning for them.”
“And the gentleman with no face collaborated with Aird in the actual murders? That's a guess, I may say, so far as the Staveley affair's concerned, though I'm fairly sure of my ground in the other cases.”
“You're right in that case too, sir. Aird and the impostor fellow were the actual murderers. Aird'll hang for certain.”
“It'll make a very nice case for you, inspector; and I'm sure you'll work it up well for the Public Prosecutor. I can seen a laurel wreath somewhere in the background.”
“But it's you who did most of it, sir. Nobody understands that better than I do,” the inspector objected, evidently afraid lest Sir Clinton thought him capable of accepting the credit without protest.
“I came into the thing on a strict understanding that I was to be a pure spectator, you remember. I'm afraid that at times I got a shade too zealous, perhaps; but it's your case and not mine. If we'd made a mess of it between us, you'd have had to stand the racket; so obviously a success goes down to your account. The subject's closed.”
Wendover, seeing the inspector's difficulty in framing a suitable reply to this, intervened to change the subject.