“I’m giving you an average,” said Walkinshaw. “From five o’clock onward, anyhow. Do you think one car would be noticed out of the hundreds that come and go? Rot!”
“Where did they put their car while they came to the Sceptre?” asked the Chief Constable.
“I see nothing difficult about that,” replied Walkinshaw. “I’d engage to hide any car, however big, in one of our byways or plantations, or in a convenient spot in the hollows of the downs, for a few hours, without anybody seeing it. A lonely district like this, and at night, too! Easy enough!”
“If these two men came together in a car,” said Chilford, “why did one man present himself at Grimsdale’s at nine o’clock in the evening and the other at two o’clock in the morning?”
“For that matter—if you’re going into whys and wherefores,” retorted Walkinshaw, “where did the first man go when he walked out of the Sceptre’s door after first going there? He was away until close on eleven o’clock. Where had he been?”
“Well, we’ve gone into that, too!” said the Chief Constable, almost defiantly. “There isn’t a soul in the village who saw any stranger at all that night!”
“But no one knew of him till Grimsdale had testified.”
“Or—who’ll admit that they did!” sneered Chilford. “He must have gone somewhere, and seen somebody.” He pulled out his watch. “I’m going home to lunch,” he said. “This is waste of time. My advice to Blick is—go back on your tracks and get to work at the fountain-head—in London!”
“What’s Blick say?” asked the barrister with a laugh. He had steadily smoked cigarettes in silence while the others had talked. “Come, Blick?”
“Blick is a wise young man,” said the Chief Constable. “He’s going to say nothing. You’ll take your own line, eh, Blick?”