“Look you here, young man!” he said. “You say you saw me in Newcastle. With anybody?”
“Yes!” I answered, somewhat nettled. “I saw you with the man who called himself Pawley.”
“Ah!” he exclaimed. “And you saw me last night at Wooler, with the police inspector. Did you come here and tell that—and the Pawley incident—to Parslewe? Come now!”
“I did!” said I. “Why not?”
Without another word he strode off to his car, motioned to its driver, and went away.
VI
The Irrepressible Newsman
I WATCHED Sir Charles Sperrigoe drive off along the moorland road, and closing the turret door, went slowly and full of meditation up the stair to the parlour. Madrasia was standing where we had left her, on the hearth; she had the copper box in her hands and was examining it carefully. On my entrance she put it down on the table, and we looked at each other.
“Do you think he’ll come back?” she asked.
“I don’t know what he’ll do,” I answered, “but I think he and Pawley are pretty much of a muchness! If he’s master and Pawley’s man, then there’s not much to choose between man and master! Did you notice that he wouldn’t allow that he knew Pawley, whereas he knew well enough that he and Pawley met at Newcastle only day before yesterday? But I’ll tell you what happened downstairs.”
I gave her a full account of the brief interchange of remarks between Sir Charles and myself in the courtyard. She listened eagerly, and her eyes lit up.