‘I do believe you’re right,’ he said. ‘What do you think, Meggie?’
The girl hesitated. As she recollected Mrs Meade’s story of the discovery of the murder, Martin’s theory became rapidly more and more plausible.
‘Yes,’ she said again. ‘I believe he’s hit it.’
Martin grinned delightedly.
‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘Now all we’ve got to do is to find the chap and get the truth out of him. This is going to be great. Now what’s the best way to get on to the trail of those two johnnies? Toddle round to all the crematoriums in the country and make inquiries?’
The others were silent. Here was a problem which, without the assistance of Scotland Yard, they were almost powerless to tackle.
They were still discussing it when, fifteen minutes later, Michael Prenderby walked in. His pale face was flushed as if from violent exertion and he began to talk eagerly as soon as he got into the room.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said; ‘but I’ve had an adventure. Walked right into it in the Lea Bridge Road. I stopped to have a plug put in and there it was staring at me. I stared at it – I thought I was seeing things at first – until the garage man got quite embarrassed.’
Martin Watt regarded the new-comer coldly.
‘Look here, Michael,’ he said with reproach. ‘We’re here to discuss a murder, you know.’