“He says he doesn’t but I haven’t seen him myself. I am going up to Lennsdale now to question him. Would you care to come?”
At first I thought not, and then I altered my mind. After all, Thoyne really was right in the thick of it.
When we reached Thoyne’s house Pepster took the lead and rang lustily at the bell, which was one of the old-fashioned type with a long, hanging handle of cast-iron. He had to ring three times before he obtained any response and then the door was slowly opened to disclose a very old, white-headed man standing blinking at us with watery eyes. To Pepster’s question as to whether Mr. Thoyne was at home he only shook his head, but whether in negative reply or merely in stupidity we could not quite make out. The old man’s face at all events was devoid of expression.
“Do you mean he is not at home?” I demanded sharply.
“We will see for ourselves,” Pepster said, pushing past the old man into the hall. “Now, then, who else is in the house, and be careful what you say or we may be taking you with us.”
Pepster was very angry that Tulmin had slipped through his fingers and apparently regarded the old man as an ally of the enemy.
“Taking me with you!” the old fellow cried, in the quavering accents of age. “Taking me where?”
“To prison, old chap,” Pepster replied cheerfully. “People who won’t answer questions often find themselves in gaol.”
It was pure bluff and Pepster’s superiors would probably have had something rather drastic to say had they overheard it. But the detective knew pretty well how far to go, and with whom it was safe to go even that distance.
“But, dear sir, I have done nothing wrong,” the old man said, manifesting a sudden fluency which caused Pepster to turn on him with a sharp glance. “I am a very old man, gentlemen, seventy-seven, and I have never been in any trouble of that sort, never, gentlemen.”