“Certainly, my boy, certainly. I’m very glad indeed to see you, Gethryn. Very glad. This is a terrible, an awful affair—and, well, I think we could do with your help. You see, I feel responsible for seeing that everything’s done that can be. It may seem strange to you, Gethryn, the way I’m taking charge like this; but John and I were—well ever since we were children we’ve been more like brothers than most real ones. I don’t think a week’s passed, except once or twice, that we haven’t seen—— This way: we can talk better in my room. I’ve got a sitting-room of my own here, you know. Dear old John——”
3
It was three-quarters of an hour before Anthony descended the stairs; but in that time much had been decided and arranged. So much, in fact, that Anthony marvelled at his luck—a form of mental exercise unusual in him. He was always inclined to take the gifts of the gods as his due.
But this was different. Everything was being made so easy for him. First, here was dear, stolid old Boyd in charge of the case. Next, there was Sir Arthur. As yet they were the merest acquaintances, but the knight had, he knew, for some time been aware of and impressed by the war record of A. R. Gethryn, and had welcomed him to the stricken household. Through Sir Arthur, Miss Hoode—whom Anthony had not seen yet—had been persuaded to accept Anthony, despite his present aura of journalism.
Oh, most undoubtedly, everything was going very well! Now, thought Anthony, for the murderer. This, in spite of its painful side, was all vastly entertaining. Who killed Cock Robin Hoode?
Anthony felt more content than for the last year. It appeared that, after all, there might be interest in life.
In the hall he found Boyd; with him Poole, the butler—a lean, shaking old man—and a burly fellow whom Anthony knew for another of Scotland Yard’s Big Four.
Boyd came to meet him. The burly one picked up his hat and sought the front door. The butler vanished.
“I wish you’d tell me, colonel,” Boyd asked, “exactly where you come in on this business?”
Anthony smiled. “It’s no use, Boyd. I’m not the murderer, But lend me your ears and I’ll explain my presence.”