"Oh, to be sure, sir," replied Matherfield. "It's not the only private and confidential feature of this affair, I assure you."
Outside he turned to Hetherwick.
"Well!" he said. "We've cleared up a few things, Mr. Hetherwick—or, rather, those two have cleared them up for us. But are we any nearer answering the question that we want answering—who poisoned Robert Hannaford?"
"I think we are!" replied Hetherwick. "I am, anyhow! Either Baseverie poisoned him—or he knows who did!"
"Knows who did!" repeated Matherfield. "Ah!—that's more like it. I don't think he did it—he wouldn't be so ready about showing himself forward."
"I'm not so sure of that," remarked Hetherwick. "From what we've heard of him, he seems to be a bold and daring sort of scamp. Probably he thought he'd have a very easy prey in Lady Riversreade; probably, too, he believed that a woman who's got all that money would make little to do about parting with thirty thousand pounds. One thing's sure, however—Baseverie knows what we want to know. And—he's gone!"
"Perhaps—perhaps!" said Matherfield. "And perhaps not. This man of Penteney's no doubt tracked him to Dover, and there he lost him, but that isn't saying that Baseverie's gone on the Continent. If Baseverie's the cute customer that he seems to be, he'd put two and two together when Major Penteney warned him off Riversreade Court. He'd probably suspect Penteney of setting a watch on him; he may have spotted the very man who was watching. Then, if he'd any sense, he'd lead that man a bit of a dance, and eventually double on him. No!—I should say Baseverie's back here in town! That's about it, Mr. Hetherwick. But what's this? Here's one of my men coming to meet us. I left word where I should be found."
Hetherwick looked up and saw a man, who was obviously a policeman in plain clothes, coming towards them. He was a quiet-looking, stodgy-faced man, but he had news written all over his plain face.
"Well, Marler?" inquired Matherfield as they met. "Got something?"
There was nobody about in that quiet corner of Lincoln's Inn Fields, yet the man looked round as if anxious to escape observation, and he spoke in a whisper.