“Chilford’s coming across here,” he said. “Those two have been jawing at him no end!”
Chilford came in presently, and shook his head at the two men, with mock reproof.
“I say—I say!” he said. “Rather high-handed proceedings, eh—to collar Mrs. Braxfield like that, after trying to get her to incriminate herself? Come—come! You don’t really mean to tell me, either of you, that you think it at all likely that Mrs. Braxfield would be such a fool as to murder a man to whom she’d just become related by marriage—a Markenmore, too! Really, I’m surprised——”
“Look you here, Chilford!” interrupted the Chief Constable, getting a little red about the ears, “you can be as surprised as you like! Mrs. Braxfield has only herself to blame, and she’s only gone out of here on sufferance. Let her be thankful if we don’t fetch her back—and keep her!”
Chilford pulled himself together, staring.
“Oh!” he said. “Ah! Oh, very well: if you’re putting it that way, I’ve no more to say, except that Crewe and I will put our heads together on behalf of the family. We’re not at all satisfied with you police—you’re not going on the right track. Why don’t you recognize once and for all that the real reason for Guy Markenmore’s murder was money!—money in some fashion or another—money!”
With another emphatic repetition of his last word he swung round and left the room.
CHAPTER XXIII