"That must be another mistake," was the answer.
When he had gone the professor remarked that John Bennett was far nearer an asylum than a prison.
"If Hardiman had been shot I should think the servant had shot him, but he was not shot. You see, Captain, the case is not so easy. These bits of rock complicate it, and we must keep an eye on Majendie."
There was a man I knew well attached to the Liverpool police, and I was fortunate enough to get hold of him to follow Majendie to London that afternoon. Bennett, having virtually confessed to the crime, was kept in custody, and I was free to remain with Quarles and examine the cases which Hardiman had brought to England. After certain formalities had been complied with, we carried out this examination in one of the shipping company's sheds. There were many things of extreme interest of which I could write a lengthy account, but they had no bearing on our business. The things which concerned us were the Patagonian relics.
The two drums did not interest the professor much, but the figure of the god did. It was about three-quarters life size, roughly carved into a man's shape. The wood was light in weight and in color, but had been smeared to a darker hue over the breast and loins. One arm hung by the figure's side, was, indeed, only roughly indicated; but the other, slightly bent, was stretched out in front of the figure. There was nothing actually horrible about the image, but, remembering Bennett's description of some of the rites performed in that temple, it became sinister enough. Quarles's inspection took a long time, and during it I do not think he uttered a word.
"I think we may go back to Chelsea, Wigan," he said at last.
Late on the following night we were in the empty room. At the professor's suggestion I repeated the whole story for Zena's benefit, although I fancy Quarles wanted to have a definite picture before his mind, as it were, and to find out whether any particular points had struck me. Zena's comment when I had finished was rather surprising.
"This Mr. Majendie must be a clumsy thrower," she said.
Quarles sat up in his chair as if his interest in the conversation had only become keen at that moment.
"She hits the very heart of the mystery, Wigan."