“No, he calculated it out exactly, left a tip of two shillings for the barmaid, and went off leaving the money on his chest of drawers.”
“What about his suitcase?”
“It wasn’t his, it was Mottram’s. He carried off all his own things in the despatch-box. Apart from the fact that he gave a false name to the garage people, his exit was quite en règle. And it’s dangerous to stop a train and arrest a man like that. Added to which, it was perfectly possible that he was lying doggo at Lowgill.”
It was at this point that Mr. Pulteney sailed into the room. The old gentleman was rubbing his hands briskly in the enjoyment of retrospect; he had scarce any need of breakfast, you would have said, so richly was he chewing the cud of his experiences overnight. “What a day I have spent!” he exclaimed. “I have examined a motor-car, and even opened part of its mechanism, without asking the owner’s leave. I have been suspected of murder. I have set up in an extremely draughty garage, waiting to pounce upon a criminal. And, to crown it all, I have approached a total stranger with the words ‘Here we are again.’ Really life has nothing more to offer me. But where is Mr. Eames?”
“We took him to Lowgill with us,” explained Angela, “and when he got there he insisted on taking the late train back to Pullford. He said he had something to talk over with the Bishop. He has left some pyjamas and a toothbrush here as hostages, and says he will look in on us in the course of the day to reclaim them. So you’ll see him again.”
“A remarkable man. A shrewd judge of character. He recognized me at once as a man of reflection. God bless my soul! Do I understand that Mrs. Davis has provided us with sausages?”
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” said Angela. “She must have felt that the occasion had to be marked out somehow. And she was so pleased at having her bill paid. I don’t think Brinky can have been such an unpleasant man, after all.”
“Believe me,” said Leyland earnestly, “there is no greater mistake than to suppose your criminal is a man lost to all human feelings. It is perfectly possible for Brinkman to have murdered his master, and have been prepared to run off with a car and a thousand pounds which didn’t belong to him, and yet to have shrunk from the prospect of leaving an honest woman like Mrs. Davis the poorer for his visit. We are men, you see, and we are not made all in one piece.”
“But how odd of him to pop off into the gorge like that! I mean, it’s a very jolly place, they tell me; and we know Brinky admired the scenery of it, because he told my husband so. But isn’t it rather odd of him to have wanted to take a long, last lingering look at it before he bolted for South America?”
“It is perfectly possible that it may have had a fascination for him,” assented Leyland. “But I think his conduct was more reasonable than you suppose. After all, by coming up at the farther end of the gorge he managed to make it look quite natural when the motor found him walking in the direction of Chilthorpe. And, more than that, I have little doubt that he knew he was followed. Eames is a most capable fellow, but he must, I think, have followed his man a little carelessly, and so given himself away. Brinkman probably thought that it was Bredon who was following him.”