“A few—yes. But this isn’t one. Not but what there are still puzzles in it. I can well understand that when Miss Kitty Clevedon told her brother that she had been compelled to promise to marry Sir Philip, he should offer to set her free by threatening to mur—no, keep your hands off me, Thoyne. But what I haven’t yet settled is why she promised to marry Sir Philip or what hold he had over her. There is a story behind it that would solve the puzzle, but I haven’t got it yet. I shall get it though, and if it involves young Clevedon—”
I broke off there with a short laugh, stepping back just in time to avoid the quick, nervous blow Thoyne aimed at me with his stick. He recovered himself on the instant and grinned a little ruefully.
“If you think Billy Clevedon murdered Sir Philip,” he said, “you are hopelessly out of your reckoning. A bullet or a blow, perhaps, but not poison. That isn’t Billy’s way.”
Pepster, I remembered, had said the same thing and I merely duplicated my reply.
“Oh, as for that,” I said, “one never knows. Where is he, anyway?”
“You don’t know?”
“No,” I responded. “I never pretend a knowledge I do not possess. I don’t know where he is—do you?”
“No,” he replied slowly, “I don’t. I would give £5,000 at this moment if I did.”
“If he is innocent,” I said, “he is a fool for stopping away, and no less, perhaps, if he is guilty because, at least, his guilt has to be proved. If you are hiding him you are doing him no service. I am not looking for him but the police are.”
“The police!”