“Winter, your unreasonable jealousy is making you vulgar.”
“Wouldn’t any man swear, sir? Why did I let such a handful as Mrs. Jiro slip through my fingers the other day? Clue! Why, it was a perfect bale of cotton. If I had only followed her instead of that little rat, her husband, we would now know where the third man lives, and have the murderer of Sir Alan under our thumb. It is all my fault, though sometimes I feel inclined to blame the police system—a system that won’t even give us telephones between one station and another. Never mind. Wait till I tackle the next job for the Yard. I’ll show ’em a trick or two.”
[Chapter XXI]
Concerning Chickens, and Motives
The detective cooled off by the time they reached Brett’s flat. On the dining-room tables they found two telegrams and a Remington type-writer.
The messages were from Holden, Naples.
The first: “Johnson arrived here this morning.”
The second: “Johnson’s proceedings refer to poorhouse and church registers.”
“Johnson is Capella,” explained Winter. “I forgot to tell you we had arranged that.”