“Yes, I know it was—what of it?”
“But if you thought he was the murderer—?”
“Of course I thought he was the murderer. You don’t think I should have involved an innocent man, do you? Yes, I persuaded Tulmin to go away in order to keep suspicion off Billy Clevedon. Kitty was terrified and I was a bit anxious myself.”
“And as to this quarrel?” I interposed.
“I don’t know the rights of that, except that Tulmin had wanted more money than Clevedon was willing to pay. Kitty had told me, you know, that Clevedon had wanted her to marry him and that she intended to consent. We were not formally engaged then, though it was all but fixed up between us. But the word lay with her, of course, and I was trying to be as philosophical as I could over my dismissal when one night Tulmin came to me with a queer, mixed yarn, of which at first I could make nothing. ‘What have you come to me for?’ I said. ‘I’ve come to sell you a secret,’ he replied. My first idea was to give the swine a good sound kicking and pack him off. ‘I could tell you something about Sir Philip that’ll make Miss Kitty impossible,’ he added, and at that I waited.
“I dare say you’ll blame me, but I don’t pretend to be any better than anybody else, and besides, he’d stolen her from me. So I listened. He told me he knew something against Clevedon, who had been paying him to keep silence. Now he wanted to go back to America—Tulmin did, I mean—and had asked Clevedon for a lump sum, and Clevedon had threatened to shoot him. That is the best thing I ever heard about Clevedon. Tulmin is a little rat, for whom shooting is a lot too good. But Clevedon had stolen my woman and I didn’t mean to lose any chance that came. I said he could have the money if I found the secret worth it. He wanted it in advance, but I told him he’d have it my way or no way. And then he told me what Clevedon had been across the water.
“At first I took him to mean that Clevedon was an impostor and had no right to the title and estates, but it seems I was wrong there. I went off to Clevedon next day and we had a right royal rumpus about it—that was the interview described at the inquest. I didn’t mention Tulmin’s name—the little rat had made that a condition. ‘You can’t deny it,’ I said to Clevedon. ‘I come from Chicago, you know. I recognised you months ago.’ He seemed impressed and it was rather a good lie. ‘But I didn’t interfere,’ I went on, ‘until you tried to steal my woman, and we Americans are always ready to fight for our women.’ That housekeeper woman didn’t hear all that, apparently. Then Clevedon denied the whole story and we began to get angry.”
“I see,” I interposed, “and when you said you’d find a way of making him give Miss Clevedon up, you meant—”
“I meant I would get the Chicago police on his trail.”
“Did you know that Clevedon gave Tulmin a cheque for £500 the day before the murder?”