"You've not said anything about the handkerchief that I found," observed Mr. Cazalette. "There's a clue, surely!"
"Difficult to follow up, sir," replied Scarterfield. "There is such a thing as little articles of that sort being lost at the laundry, put into the wrong basket, and so on. Now if we could trace the owner of the handkerchief and find where he gets his washing done, and a great deal more—you see? But we'll not lose sight of it, Mr. Cazalette—only, there are more important clues than that to go on in the meantime. The great thing is—what was this precious secret that the Quicks shared, and that certainly had to do with some place here in Northumberland? Let's get at that—if we can."
The two police officials went away with Dr. Lorrimore and his servant, all in deep converse, and the four of us who were left behind endeavoured to settle our minds for the repose of the night. But I saw that Mr. Raven had been upset by the recent talk: he had got it firmly fixed in his consciousness that the murderer of Salter Quick was, as it were, in our very midst.
"How do I know that the guilty man mayn't be one of my own servants?" he muttered, as he, Mr. Cazalette and I took up our candles. "There are six men in the house—all strangers to me—and several employed outside. The idea's deucedly unpleasant!"
"Ye may put it clear away from you, Raven," said Mr. Cazalette. "The murderer may be within bow-shot, but he's none o' yours. Ye'll look deeper, far, far deeper than that—this is no ordinary affair, and no ordinary men at the bottom of it." Then, when he and I had left our host, and were going along one of the upstairs passages towards our own rooms, he added: "No ordinary man, Middlebrook! but you see how ordinary folk are suspicioned! Raven'll be doubting the bona fides of his own footmen and his own garden lads next. No—no! it'll be deeper down than that, my lad!"
"The mystery is deep," I agreed.
"Aye—and I'm wondering if it was well to let yon Chinese fellow into all of it," he muttered significantly. "I'm no great believer in Orientals, Middlebrook."
"Lorrimore answers for him," said I.
"And who answers for Lorrimore?" he demanded. "What do you or I know of Lorrimore? I'm thinking yon Lorrimore was far too glib of his tongue—and maybe I was too ready myself and talked beyond reason to strangers. I don't know Lorrimore—nor his Chinaman."
From which I gathered that Mr. Cazalette himself was not superior to suspicions.