“What can we do to unravel this tangled skein without creating untold mischief?” he murmured.
“It beats me, sir,” was the perplexed answer. “But when I came in I imagined that Jane Harding or some one had been to see you. Surely, you had learned something of all this before my arrival?”
“Yes, indeed. I had reached your goal, but by a different route. Unfortunately, my discovery only goes to confirm yours.”
Bruce then told him of his visit to the lawyer’s office, and its result. Mr. White listened to the recital with knitted brows.
“It is very clear,” he said, when the barrister had ended, “that Lady Dyke was killed in Mrs. Hillmer’s flat, that Sir Charles knew of her death, that he himself conveyed the body to the river bank at Putney, and that ever since he has tried to throw dust in our eyes and prevent any knowledge of the true state of affairs reaching us.”
“Your summary cannot be disputed in the least particular.”
“Well, Mr. Bruce, we must do something. If you don’t like to interfere, then I must.”
“There is but one person in the world who can enlighten us as to the facts. That person obviously is Sir Charles Dyke himself.”
“Unquestionably.”
Bruce looked at his watch. It was 10.30 P.M. He rose.