The Chief Constable, to whom Blick had sent a message by the plain-clothes men, was awaiting him and the new-comer in his private office. He looked at Lansbury with considerable interest, and suddenly asked a direct question.
“Are you the Mr. Edward Lansbury who had a good deal to do with the Vilona Real Estate Development Company some few years ago?” he enquired. “You are, eh? Um!—I’ve got a pretty fair holding in that—very profitable it’s been, too. And what can you tell of this Markenmore affair, Mr. Lansbury? We shall be very glad to know.”
Lansbury dropped into an easy chair at the side of the Chief Constable’s desk, and put the tips of his fingers together.
“Well,” he said, “I’ll tell you all that I can tell—that is, all that I actually know. As regards the actual murder of Guy Markenmore, seems like it amounts to nothing; as regards what happened just before it, well, you must make out of that what you can! All I can tell you is as to what took place at the Sceptre Inn.”
“And why you, Markenmore, and von Eckhardstein met there,” said Blick quietly.
“Sure! Well, as to why we met there,” continued Lansbury. “As I told you at the railway station just now, I am a financier. I have business interests in this country as well as in my own. I have an office in London, just as I have an office in New York. Naturally I know a great many financial operators in both countries. I knew Guy Markenmore well enough—a smart man who had done well. I know von Eckhardstein, not so well, but sufficiently. He, of course, is better known than I am, or than Markenmore was—known in London, Paris, and Vienna.”
“A German, I suppose?” asked the Chief Constable.
“No—von Eckhardstein is an Austrian,” said Lansbury. “Well—I have had dealings with these two—separately, you understand, never together—on various occasions, and always found them very good, straight men of business. Now, very recently, Markenmore wrote to me that he had a business deal on in which I should find it profitable to join, with the idea of developing its results in the States. He told me in a letter what it was—but I do not wish, at present, to tell you, for the thing is a most important secret. I will, of course, tell if it becomes necessary to do so in the interests of justice: that is, if my telling the precise details will help in the arrest of Markenmore’s murderer. But just now I would rather not say, and it’s not relative to the pertinent matter. It’s sufficient to tell you that Markenmore had the chance—an option, in fact—of buying a certain something from a certain somebody, and he invited me to go in with him; his proposition was that I should acquire one-third, he would take up another, and we would find a third man to buy the remaining third. We had a little correspondence about the thing to be purchased—I may tell you that that thing was a trade secret. While we had this correspondence, Markenmore was in London, and I was at either Southampton or at Falmouth—I have business at both places just now. Now, about the middle of last week, Markenmore wrote to me and said that as I was at Southampton, would I meet him at the Sceptre Inn, Markenmore, Selcaster, on the next Monday night?—he was going to Markenmore Court that evening, he said, on family business, and would join me at the Sceptre when it was over—at ten-thirty or so. We fixed this up. I came on from Southampton by an evening train, walked out to Markenmore, booked a room at the Sceptre, and ordered supper for two. While it was being got ready, I took a walk outside—I had been kept indoors a great deal for some days in a close-atmosphered place, and I was enjoying the fresh air. I strolled outside this village of Markenmore, and I met von Eckhardstein.”
“A moment,” interrupted Blick. “What time was that?”
“It would be between nine-thirty and ten, as near as I can remember,” replied Lansbury.