"Can you take advice?" asked Dick.
"From you, Mr. Bellamy," said Finucane, "who wouldn't?"
"I'm so sleepy that if I don't give it now, I may forget it. Properly handled, that dirty thing in the chair there will give his show away. Keep him to-night as a drunk and disorderly. Better have a doctor to him. I tasted the stuff. Tomorrow I'll swear a dozen charges against him—burglary, abduction, instigation to murder, attempts to kill; and when he hears 'em read over, he'll be putty in your fingers."
"Thanks," said Finucane.
"Next: ring up the police and the station-master at Todsmoor. Tell 'em to keep tight hold of the man who fell out of the train between Harthborough and Todsmoor at five-forty p.m. and of the bloke that was with him, suspected of throwing him out."
Finucane paid his guest the compliment of obeying without question.
As he hung up the receiver,
"The man's in hospital, all right," he said, "broken collar-bone. I was just in time to prevent them from letting the other go. They're to hold him on a charge of throwing his pal out."
"I did that," said Dick. "At least, I scared the bird off his perch."
Again Finucane rang.