“Mr. Ashton-Kirk’s first visit here was not all chance then,” said Campe.
“Not quite,” returned Bat, unblushingly. “You see, along about the time of that visit I had got it fixed fast in my mind that everything was not just what it ought to be around here; and as I didn’t think myself man enough for the job, I took a day off and got Kirk.”
“Thank you,” said Campe. “I felt all along that something of the sort would be the best thing I could do, but I never quite got up the courage to take the step. If there had been myself only to think of,” and his glance went from the big man to Ashton-Kirk, “I might have done it. But there was some one else, and that is what stopped me.”
Now, however, that the time for action seemed to have arrived, there was a stain of colour in his cheeks, his hand grew steadier, and a look of purpose came into his eyes.
“You spoke of my giving you assistance,” said he to the crime specialist. “Give it a name; I am ready.”
“Good!” said Ashton-Kirk, satisfaction in his voice. “Then we’ll begin at once.” He went to a window and looked out into the courtyard where the warm sun flooded the stones. “It’s a beautiful day,” said he. Then: “You have no car here, Mr. Campe?”
“No, we have no use for one, as we seldom go any distance.”
“A run will be a novelty. Take my car. Also my driver, and both Miss Knowles and your aunt.”
Campe looked at him questioningly.
“I went over the house some days ago,” said Ashton-Kirk, calmly, meeting the look, “and I should like to go over it again—in my own way.”