“Is that a very odd reason for Pulteney? He’s an incalculable sort of creature.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t happen to be true. Can’t you feel the thunder in the air? If you can’t, the fishes can, And when there’s thunder in the air they won’t rise. Pulteney knows that as well as I do.”
“Would you know his rod if you saw it?”
“Yes, I was looking at it with him just before luncheon.”
“Come on.” They went out into the front hall, and Eames gave a quick glance round. “Yes, that’s it, in the corner. He’s no more out fishing than you or I.”
“Edward!” said Angela as they returned to the best room. “To think it was my Edward all the time.”
“Oh, don’t rag, Angela; this is serious. Now, can’t it have been Pulteney listening all along?”
“He was there, you know, when you and Leyland arranged to go out to the mill-house after breakfast. And he was there at luncheon, though I don’t think either of us mentioned that we meant to go there. Still, he might have guessed that. But what on earth is the poor old dear up to?”
“Well, one or two things are clear. About Brinkman, I mean. Whatever his idea may have been when he took me out for a walk to the gorge and talked about geology he wasn’t ‘reacting’ on Leyland’s suggestion, because it wasn’t he who was listening behind the wall when the suggestion was made. And there’s another thing—this bit of paper Leyland found lying about in the room upstairs. If Brinkman put it there, then Brinkman did it on his own; he wasn’t playing up to the suggestion which Leyland made about wanting clues to incriminate Simmonds with.”
“Still,” objected Angela, “we never proved that it was Brinky who left that old clue lying about. We only assumed it, because we thought it was Brinky who was listening behind the wall.”