“It sounds deuced plausible, Inspector, I must admit. But——”
“But what, sir?”
“Well,” Sir Clinton answered thoughtfully, “it leaves us again with the choice between the single and the double bluff, you see, even if one goes no further with one's inquiries.”
The Inspector pondered over the point for a few seconds, but at the end of his cogitation he seemed unimpressed. Apparently, however, he thought it wise to change the subject.
“In any case, sir, I think Whalley's part in the bungalow affair is pretty plain now. I told you he was the sort of fellow who was out for easy money, no matter how dirty it might be. By the way, he was the man who inquired about the number of that motor which he said knocked him spinning—an obvious try-on to get damages, although he wasn't hurt at all. You can see he'd do anything to make money and save himself from honest work. If you remember that, it's easy enough to see the part he played at the bungalow. He was the person you christened Peeping Tom.”
“Anything further about him that you can think of, Inspector? I don't say you're wrong, of course.”
“Well, sir, if Silverdale expected to take his wife in flagrante delicto, he'd need an independent witness, wouldn't he? Possibly Whalley was the man he picked out for the work.”
“Do you think he was the sort of witness that was wanted? I'm not so sure of his suitability myself.”
“It wasn't exactly a nice job, sir,” the Inspector pointed out. “Silverdale would hardly care to take one of his close friends to inspect an affair of that sort. And of course a woman——”
He broke off suddenly, as though struck by a fresh idea. Sir Clinton ignored the last phrase of the Inspector.