“I think I'd have been a bit stirred up myself, Inspector, if you came along in my absence and pawed over all my private possessions. One isn't necessarily a scoundrel if one turns peevish over a thing of that sort.”
The Inspector let the point pass.
“Have you any notion who this Mr. Justice can be, sir?”
“I've a pretty fair notion, but it's only a notion. Who stands to profit by the affair?”
Some recollection seemed to cross the Inspector's mind.
“Spratton, of course, sir. And now I come to think of it, if you shaved off your moustache, he's very like you in face and build. If Spratton's going to collect his insurance on young Hassendean, then murder's got to be proved.”
“Well,” said Sir Clinton lightly. “I trust Mr. Spratton will get what he deserves in the matter.”
Chapter XVI.
Written Evidence
Inspector Flamborough had to wait a couple of days before his unknown ally, Justice, made any further move. It so happened that Sir Clinton was not at headquarters when the post brought the expected communication; and the Inspector had plenty of time to consider the fresh evidence, unbiased by his superior's comments. As soon as the Chief Constable reappeared, Flamborough went to him to display the latest document in the case.
“This came by the midday post, sir,” he explained, laying some papers on the table. “It's Mr. Justice again. The results of his raid on the Deepcar house, it seems.”