“Quite right, Rector; you could do no more. Did you see anything of Detective Sergeant Stokes before you left Piccadilly?”
“I did,” replied the other. “He also was intensely interested in Nicol Brinn’s visitor. And about five minutes before she came out he went upstairs.”
“Oh, I see. She came out almost immediately after Stokes had gone up?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, Rector. Return to Piccadilly, and report to me as soon as possible.” Innes hung up the receiver.
“Did you follow, Wessex?” he said. “Stokes was on the right track, but made a bad blunder. You see, his appearance led to the woman’s retreat.”
“He explained that to me,” returned the inspector, gloomily. “She got out by another door as he came in. Oh! a pretty mess he has made of it. If he and Rector had been cooperating, they could have covered her movements perfectly.”
“There is no use crying over spilt milk,” returned Innes. He glanced significantly in the inspector’s direction. “Miss Abingdon has rung up practically every hour all day,” he said.
Wessex nodded his head.
“I’m a married man myself,” he replied, “and happily married, too. But if you had seen the look in her eyes when I told her that Mr. Harley had disappeared, I believe you would have envied him.”