“The story of Calcott, the crook, and what you knew about him in Chicago.”
“I did not know him in Chicago.”
He sat himself down and ran his fingers two or three times through his thick hair.
“You are rather a marvel,” he said, with a smile that was just a little rueful. “How you get these things sorted out amazes me. First one and then another, you get them all straightened and leave no loose ends. No, I never knew Calcott, though I’d heard of him. But I had known Tulmin in Chicago. I caught him looting my baggage—it was in the car outside my house and he was just moving off with a bag. I caught him and thrashed him and let him go. I recognised him when I met him here, and he knew me also. I didn’t interfere. He seemed to be living an honest life as far as I could gather and I didn’t want to rob the poor devil of his chance. It was he who told me about Calcott. You see, after they quarrelled—”
“Quarrelled!” I repeated. “Did—but I must have the whole story now. There is more in this than I thought. If there was a quarrel—”
“Yes, what of it?”
Thoyne spoke a little impatiently as if he were tired of the whole subject and merely wanted to bury it.
“Well, a quarrel—is sometimes a motive for murder—”
“I always thought Tulmin did it,” he responded quietly. “But I’ll tell you all I know and then perhaps you can leave me alone. Damn Clevedon and damn Tulmin. Why should I be worried about their affairs in this fashion? I didn’t ask to be mixed up in it, did I? Of course, I did it to help Kitty, and would do it all again, and more for her. And all through the infernal foolery of this secret marriage. Why couldn’t Clevedon tell his sister he was going to be married? The whole thing’s been a nightmare to me and I’m dead sick of it. I didn’t murder Clevedon and I don’t know who did, unless it was Tulmin. If you would find the assassin and tie him up I might get some peace.”
“But it was you who took Tulmin away and hid him,” I replied.