“None whatever, in my mind,” the Inspector affirmed. “Polegate could take what he wanted, once the light was out.”
Sir Clinton did not dispute this point.
“Of course,” he said. “And now for the next query: ‘With what motive?’ Where do you stand in that matter, Inspector?”
But here Armadale evidently felt himself on sure ground.
“Polegate’s a rackety young fool, sir. This is where local knowledge comes in. He’s got no common sense—always playing practical jokes. He’s been steadily muddling away the money his father left him. I shouldn’t be surprised if he’s hard up. That’s the motive.”
“And you think he’d steal from his oldest friends?”
“Every man has his price,” retorted the Inspector, bluntly. “Put on the screw hard enough in the way of temptation, and any man’ll fall for it.”
“Rather a hard saying that, Inspector; and perhaps a trifle too sweeping.” Sir Clinton turned on Armadale suddenly. “What would be your price, now, if I asked you to hush up this case against young Polegate? Put a figure on it, will you?”
Armadale flushed angrily at the suggestion; then, seeing that he had been trapped, he laughed awkwardly.
“Nobody knows even their own price till it’s put on the table, Sir Clinton,” he countered, with a certain acuteness.