“Well, I should say yes. Since I’ve come here I’ve found out two things at least; and they are that a man might be rolled in a chair and still be a fairly competent criminal; and also that a man might cough and cough, and be a villain still.”
“I think you might go further than Alva and Shaw,” said Ashton-Kirk, “and still be fairly safe.”
“You mean the man with the crutch?”
The crime specialist nodded.
“Also the landlord,” said he.
Bat whistled at this and stared. The other went on:
“On our first visit there I fancied I caught a certain undertone of insincerity; an indefinite air of pre-arrangement pervaded the place; there were moments when I had the feeling that a sort of stage play had been arranged for our benefit. This, with some other things, made me somewhat curious, and yesterday I made a few queries at a small hotel some miles away. As I expected, the proprietor was perfectly willing to talk. He told me, as you did, that the innkeeper over yonder had only had the place for about six months, and that his present guests came at practically the same time.”
“Ah!” said Mr. Scanlon.
“Other guests had gone there from time to time, but things were very unpleasant, and as no attempt was made to put them right, the newcomers had never remained long.”
“The unpleasantness was made to order, eh?” observed Bat. “The new guests were not wanted.” He looked at the detective for a moment, then he added: “That house is headquarters for the whole movement against Campe.”