Winter stirred uneasily, and gazed out across the Italian garden and park, for the detectives were again installed in the dining-room.
"What about that artist, Trenholme?" he said after a pause.
"We'll look him up. Before leaving this house I want to peep into various rooms. And there's Tomlinson. Tomlinson is a rich mine. Do leave him to me. I'll dig into him deep, and extract ore of high percentage—see if I don't."
"Do you know, Charles, I've a notion that we shall get closer to bed-rock in London than here."
Furneaux pretended to look for an invisible halo surrounding his chief's close-cropped bullet head.
"Sometimes," he said reverently, "you frighten me when you bring off a brilliant remark like that. I seem to see lightning zigzagging round Jove's dome."
Fenley returned.
"It was a call from the bank," he announced. "They have just seen the newspapers. I told them I would run up to town this afternoon."
"Then you did not telephone Bishopsgate Street earlier?" inquired Winter, permitting himself to be surprised.