"What do you think he'd do?" asked Starmidge.
"I'm not quite sure," replied Easleby, with candour. "But I think I shall get there, all the same. Now, didn't you say that from all the accounts supplied to you, this Mr. John Horbury was an eminently proper sort of person? Very well—supposing it suddenly came to his knowledge that his employer—or employers, for I expect both Chestermarkes are in at it—were notorious money-lenders in London, and that they carried on this secret business in the greedy and grasping fashion—what do you suppose he'd do?—especially if he was, as you say Horbury was, a man of considerable means?"
"What do you think he'd do?" asked Starmidge.
"I think it's quite on the cards that he'd chuck his job there and then," said Easleby, "and not only that, but that he'd probably threaten exposure. Men of a very severe type of commercial religion would, my lad!—I know 'em!"
"You're suggesting—what?" inquired the younger detective.
"I'm suggesting that on that night of Hollis's visit to Scarnham, Horbury, through Hollis, became acquainted with the Chestermarke secret," replied Easleby, "and that he let the Chestermarkes know it. And in that case—what would happen?"
Starmidge walked slowly on at his companion's side, thinking. He was trying to fit together a great many things; he felt as a child feels who is presented with a puzzle in many pieces and told to put them together.
"I know what you're after," he said suddenly. "You think the Chestermarkes murdered Horbury?"
"If you want it plain and straight," replied Easleby, "I do!"
"There's the other man—Hollis," suggested Starmidge.