‘Thanks.’ Martin took up the glass and sipped it meditatively. It was evident from his manner that he was bubbling with suppressed excitement. ‘I say,’ he said suddenly, unable to control his eagerness any longer, ‘have you folk twigged the murderer?’
Abbershaw glanced at him sharply.
‘No,’ he said hesitatingly. ‘Why, have you?’
Martin nodded.
‘Fancy so,’ he said, and there was a distinctly satisfied expression in his grey eyes. ‘It seems pretty obvious to me, why –’
‘Hold hard, Martin.’
Abbershaw was surprised at the apprehension in his own voice, and he reddened slightly as the other two stared at him.
Martin frowned.
‘I don’t get you,’ he said at last. ‘There’s no special reason against suspecting Whitby, is there?’
‘Whitby?’