‘You didn’t tell him about Coombe?’ he said.
Abbershaw shook his head.
‘No,’ he said.
‘But surely, if we’re going to make the charge we ought to do it at once? You’re not going to let the old bird get away with it, are you?’
Abbershaw looked at him curiously.
‘I’ve been a damned fool all the way through,’ he said, ‘but now I’m on ground I understand, and I’m not going to live up to my record. You didn’t hear what Dawlish said to us last night, but if you had, and if you had heard that old woman’s story, I think you’d see what I’m thinking. He didn’t murder Coombe.’
Prenderby looked at him blankly.
‘My head may be still batty,’ he said, ‘but I’m hanged if I get you. If the Hun or his staff aren’t responsible, who is?’
Abbershaw looked at him fixedly, and Prenderby was moved to sarcasm.
‘Anne Edgeware, or your priceless barmy crook who showed up so well when things got tight, I suppose,’ he suggested.