Abbershaw looked at Mr Campion inquiringly.
‘Perhaps you could tell us that,’ he said pointedly.
Albert Campion’s vacuous face became even more blank than usual.
‘I don’t know much about it,’ he said. ‘My client didn’t go into all that, naturally. But I can tell you this much, it’s something sewn in the lining of a red leather wallet. It felt to me like paper – might have been a couple of fivers, of course – but I shouldn’t think so.’
‘How do you know?’ said Prenderby quietly.
Mr Campion turned to him cheerfully.
‘Oh, I collected the doings all right,’ he said, ‘and I should have got away with them if little George here hadn’t been a car fiend.’
Abbershaw frowned.
‘I think you’d better explain,’ he said.
‘Explain?’ said Mr Campion. ‘My dear chicks, there was nothing in it. As soon as I saw old Uncle Ben and his friends at the table my idea was to get the package and then beat it, manners or no manners, so when the story of the Ritual came up I thought “and very nice too” and suggested the game. Then while all you people were playing “Bats in the Belfry” with the ancestral skewer, I toddled over to the old boy, whispered “Inky-Pinky” in his ear, got the wallet, and made a beeline for the garage.’