“Yes,” murmured Innes. “They haven’t known each other long, but I should say from what little I have seen of them that she cares too much for her peace of mind.” He stared hard at the inspector. “I think it will break her heart if anything has happened to the chief. The sound of her voice over the telephone brings a lump into my throat, Wessex. She rang up an hour ago. She will ring up again.”
“Yet I never thought he was a marrying man,” muttered the inspector.
“Neither did I,” returned Innes, smiling sadly. “But even he can be forgiven for changing his mind in the case of Phil Abingdon.”
“Ah,” said the inspector. “I am not sorry to know that he is human like the rest of us.” His expression grew retrospective, and: “I can’t make out how the garage you were speaking about didn’t report that matter before,” he added.
“Well, you see,” explained Innes, “they were used to the chief making long journeys.”
“Long journeys,” muttered the inspector. “Did he make a long journey? I wonder—I wonder.”
CHAPTER XXI. THE SEVENTH KAMA
As Nicol Brinn strolled out from the door below his chambers in Piccadilly, a hoarse voice made itself audible above his head.
“Police!” he heard over the roar of the traffic. “Help! Police!”