But Inspector Quickjohn was an important man, and, withal, a smart, acute officer, who, with his twenty years’ training, was incapable of blurting out anything. If he had discovered another Gunpowder Plot he would not have imparted the information without a due amount of witness-box preliminaries and professional garnishing.
“You see, sir,” he preambled, in the logical method of a Scotch sermon, “the Chief Commissioner some time back placed the Vaux House case in my hands, and I have made a specially careful study of it.”
Herriard nodded.
“You will understand, sir,” Mr. Quickjohn went on, holding his note-book half-closed, with his thumb in the place to which he would in his own good time refer, “it is a very difficult, intricate case; one of the most baffling I remember.”
“No doubt. But you have found out something?” Herriard suggested.
Mr. Quickjohn was not to be bustled. He raised his hand in a deferential appeal for patience.
“The question as to who the person was at whose hands the late Captain Martindale met his death has given me a rare lot of trouble. You see, Mr. Herriard, it was so long ago, and there was, if I may say so, such a crowd to choose from.”
“Just so,” Herriard put in, forcing back the expression of his growing impatience.
“Primâ facie,” continued the Inspector reflectively, “primâ facie, I should not have troubled to look beyond the Countess Alexia von Rohnburg.”
The declaration brought a great relief to Herriard. Somehow there had been in his mind a vague dread that the detective might have found some plausible reason for bringing the matter home to Alexia.