“It might have been a very difficult point,” Sir George continued judicially; “the only one, in fact. For Lord Southbourne’s evidence disposed of the theory the police had formed that you had returned earlier in the evening, and that when you did go in and found the door open your conduct was a mere feint to avert suspicion. And then there was the entire lack of motive, and the derivative evidence that more than one person—and one of them a woman—had been engaged in ransacking the rooms. Yes, it was a preposterous charge!”
“But it served its purpose all right,” drawled Southbourne, strolling forward. “They’d have taken their time if I’d set them on your track just because you had disappeared. Congratulations, Wynn. You’ve had more than enough handshaking, so I won’t inflict any more on you. Wonder what scrape you’ll find yourself in next?”
“He won’t have the chance of getting into any more for some time to come. I shall take care of that!” Mary asserted, with pretty severity. “Put his collar on, Jim; and we’ll get him into the brougham.”
“My motor’s outside, Mrs. Cayley. Do have that. It’s quicker and roomier. Come on, Wynn; take my arm; that’s all right. You stand by on his other side, Cayley. Sir George, will you take Mrs. Cayley and fetch the motor round to the side entrance? We’ll follow.”
I guess I’d misjudged him in the days when I’d thought him a cold-blooded cynic. He had certainly proved a good friend to me right through this episode, and now, impassive as ever, he helped me along and stowed me into the big motor.
Half the journalists in London seemed to be waiting outside, and raised a cheer as we appeared. Mary declared that it was quite a triumphant exit.