“In which case the crime was premeditated and, on your own showing, that is unlikely. A man does not detest a woman for years and take no steps about it and then, just because he happens to run across her staying in the same neighbourhood, devise an elaborate scheme to murder her. Psychologically, your theory doesn’t hang together unless we can discover some better motive than that of mere dislike. The best thing you can do is to take the story to the police; he will then be obliged to tell them where he was that night. He can’t take the line with them that he took with you, and I’ve a strong conviction that he will be able to produce a perfectly satisfactory alibi.”
“You advise me not to waste time in following it up, then?” asked Fayre, feeling more than a little damped.
Kean’s smile was so friendly that it was impossible to take offence.
“If you want my real advice, old chap,” he said, “I should say drop the whole thing and leave it to Grey and the police. Let Grey have a clear account of what you’ve done and he will deal with it. I’m not belittling your work: it’s been uncommonly good as far as it goes, and if Gregg is concerned it may prove invaluable; but it’s useless to pit yourself against experts or to try to act without proper authority. How did you get hold of this letter to Gregg?”
The question came with startling abruptness and Fayre stifled a sudden spasm of amusement as he realized that Kean was using professional methods on him.
“I took it out of his desk when I was waiting for him the other day,” he answered with rather exaggerated meekness.
“And put yourself in a very nasty position if he finds out, apart from the fact that, if he jumps to the fact that you searched his desk, it will be the easiest thing in the world for him to destroy any evidence it contains.”
“Do you suggest that I should have kept it?” asked Fayre, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“I certainly don’t,” was Kean’s dry rejoinder. “But I should like to point out that if his desk had been searched officially the police would have kept the letter and we should have had our evidence to hand if we’d needed it. That sort of amateur detective work is all right in fiction, but it’s dangerous in practice.”
Fayre was left feeling rather sheepish and distinctly obstinate. He had taken his dressing-down meekly enough and, on the whole, he felt bound to admit that it was not undeserved, but he hadn’t the smallest intention of being warned off the course by Kean or any one else. And he still held to his theory about Gregg.