“Yes,” he responded, “everything.”
The truth or otherwise of which will appear in due course.
On my way out old Lady Clevedon met me, grimmer and more caustic than ever.
“Any discoveries, Mr. Detective?” she cried. “But I suppose I need not ask. Have you seen the Midlington Courier to-day? It has an interesting article on the Clevedon Case—I forget how many weeks gone and nothing done. It wants to know if the police—”
“But I have nothing to do with the police,” I interrupted smilingly.
Pepster, whom I found awaiting me at Stone Hollow, began on the newspaper article as soon as we met.
“What do you think of that?” he cried, waving the cutting as if it had been a flag. “Have you read it? ‘Unfortunately, we cannot congratulate the police, who seem to have been waiting, like the famous Micawber, for something to turn up.’ What do you think of it?”
“Oh, newspaper writers are very fond of dragging Mr. Micawber in,” I replied. “He is overworked.”
“Damn Micawber!”
“Yes,” I rejoined, with a quiet laugh. “I should feel like that if I belonged to the police.”