CHAPTER XXIV
The Last of Black Dudley
‘I’m sorry to ’ave ’ad to trouble you, sir.’
Detective-Inspector Pillow, of the County Police, flapped back a closely written page of his notebook and resettled himself on the wooden chair which seemed so small for him as he spoke. Abbershaw, who was bending over the bed in which Prenderby lay, now conscious and able to take an interest in the proceedings, did not speak.
The three of them were alone in one of the first-floor rooms of Black Dudley, and the Inspector was coming to the end of his inquiry.
He was a sturdy, red-faced man with close-cropped yellow hair, and a slow-smiling blue eye. At the moment he was slightly embarrassed, but he went on with his duty doggedly.
‘We’re getting everybody’s statements – in their own words,’ he said, adding importantly and with one eye on Abbershaw, ‘The Chief is not at all sure that Scotland Yard won’t be interested in this affair. ’E is going to acquaint them with the facts right away, I believe . . . I know there’s no harm in me telling you that, sir.’
He paused, and cast a wary glance at the little red-haired doctor.
‘Oh, quite,’ said Abbershaw hastily, adding immediately: ‘Have you got everything you want now? I don’t want my patient here disturbed more than I can help, you understand, Inspector.’
‘Oh, certainly not, sir – certainly not. I quite understand.’
The Inspector spoke vehemently, but he still fingered his notebook doubtfully.