“I am one of the few people in my line of life who believe in the amateur detective—and especially in the woman amateur detective. Not for nothing were the most dangerous spies in the great war—women.”
A look of pain came into Jean Bower’s face. Unheeding of that, he went on, weighing his words:
“Kentworthy can be trusted thoroughly to get up a case of the straightforward, normal kind. But for this sort of delicate, difficult, dangerous work, I fear he is of little use.”
He wheeled round, and once more began walking up and down the long room.
“And now I’m going to assume that you are right, Miss Bower—that Henry Garlett is absolutely innocent.”
He turned and cast a quick, measuring glance at his visitor.
He was wondering, deep in his heart, if she really did absolutely believe in Garlett’s innocence? If not, he was not only wasting valuable time, but they two were playing at a tiresome game of make-believe.
And then she said so humbly, so touchingly, “Thank you, Sir Harold,” that he felt his question answered.
He went on speaking, swaying slightly as he did so, wholly absorbed in the problem before him. “If this man is innocent, then we must concentrate on the fact that some one else is guilty of the crime of which he is accused. Some human being—man or woman—gave Mrs. Emily Garlett a large dose of arsenic with intent to kill her.” He looked at her fixedly. “Now who was that person? It is up to you, Miss Bower, to find that out, and you have only a month and a few days to do it in, so there’s no time to lose.”
“Tell me how to set about it,” exclaimed Jean Bower, “and I’ll do exactly what you tell me to do!”