A constable admitted him, and he walked straight through into the study where Coombes, looking very tired but smiling undauntedly, sat at a littered table studying piles of documents.
“Anything to report?” rapped Kerry.
“The man, Mareno, has gone to bed, and the expert from the Home office has been—”
Inspector Kerry brought his cane down with a crash upon the table, whereat Coombes started nervously.
“So that’s it!” he shouted furiously, “an ‘expert from the Home office’! So that’s the dark horse in the fur coat. Coombes! I’m fed up to the back teeth with this gun from the Home office! If I’m not to have entire charge of the case I’ll throw it up. I’ll stand for no blasted overseer checking my work! Wait till I see the Assistant Commissioner! What the devil has the job to do with the Home office!”
“Can’t say,” murmured Coombes. “But he’s evidently a big bug from the way Whiteleaf treated him. He instructed me to stay in the kitchen and keep an eye on Mareno while he prowled about in here.”
“Instructed you!” cried Kerry, his teeth gleaming and his steel-blue eyes creating upon Coombes’ mind an impression that they were emitting sparks. “Instructed you! I’ll ask you a question, Detective-Sergeant Coombes: Who is in charge of this case?”
“Well, I thought you were.”
“You thought I was?”
“Well, you are.”