"Thank you very much, gentlemen," he spoke quietly. "I think that is all. Hunter, I would like to see you for a few minutes."
I think Wardrop was dazed at finding himself free; he had expected nothing less than an immediate charge of murder. As we walked to the corner for a car or cab, whichever materialized first, he looked back.
"I thought so," he said bitterly. A man was loitering after us along the street. The police were not asleep, they had only closed one eye.
The last train had gone. We took a night electric car to Wynton, and walked the three miles to Bellwood. Neither of us was talkative, and I imagine we were both thinking of Margery, and the news she would have to hear.
It had been raining, and the roads were vile. Once Wardrop turned around to where we could hear the detective splashing along, well behind.
"I hope he's enjoying it," he said. "I brought you by this road, so he'd have to wade in mud up to his neck."
"The devil you did!" I exclaimed. "I'll have to be scraped with a knife before I can get my clothes off."
We both felt better for the laugh; it was a sort of nervous reaction. The detective was well behind, but after a while Wardrop stood still, while I plowed along. They came up together presently, and the three of us trudged on, talking of immaterial things.
At the door Wardrop turned to the detective with a faint smile. "It's raining again," he said, "you'd better come in. You needn't worry about me; I'm not going to run away, and there's a couch in the library."
The detective grinned, and in the light from the hall I recognized the man I had followed to the police station two nights before.