“Of course,” Pepster remarked, “there are a few matters that haven’t—come out.”
“There always are,” I replied, thinking of Kitty Clevedon’s midnight visit regarding which, at present, at all events, I intended to say nothing.
“For example, that valet, John Tulmin,” Pepster went on. “Why should Sir Philip Clevedon have given him a cheque for £500 the day before he was—before he died?”
“That certainly hasn’t come out. Did he? And did Tulmin cash it?”
“Oh, yes, there was no particular secret about it. The counterfoil of the cheque-book seemed quite plain, ‘John Tulmin, £500,’ and the money was paid out to Tulmin by the bank in Midlington at 11.30 on the morning of the day Sir Philip was—died. The bank knew Tulmin well. He had often transacted business for Sir Philip. Now, suppose that cheque was a forgery, or suppose it had been made out for £5 and Tulmin altered it to £500, or suppose the money was really for household expenses, and Tulmin stuck to it and Clevedon discovered it or Tulmin feared discovery, and so—”
“There would be your motive, certainly,” I agreed. “Has Tulmin explained the cheque?”
“Well, not in detail.”
“Has he been asked?”
“Yes.”