“H'm! Perhaps we'll get along without that, if we're lucky. But think of the platypus, inspector. Wouldn't you like to see it at home?”
The inspector gritted his teeth in an effort to restrain his temper. He glanced at Wendover, with evident annoyance at his presence.
“It's going to be a pretty problem, evidently,” Sir Clinton continued in a more thoughtful tone. “Now, what about the evidence? We'd better pool it while it's fresh in our minds. Civilians first. What did you see in it all, squire?”
Wendover decided to be concise.
“No signs of entry into the house. Bag of silver odds and ends in drawing-room, as if ready for removal. Set of volumes of diary removed from nephew's study. Strange story of missing nephew turning up. That's all I can think of just now.”
“Masterly survey, squire,” said Sir Clinton cordially. “Except that you've left out most of the points of importance.”
He nodded to Armadale.
“See anything else, inspector? The credit of the force is at stake, remember.”
“Mr. Fordingbridge didn't seem overmuch cut up by Peter Hay's death, sir.”
“There's something in that. Either he's a reserved person by nature, or else he'd something of more importance to himself on his mind, if one can judge from what we saw. Anything more?”