"It would be all right at the beginning," Anderson said, "but by the time he had finished he would need another day in bed. Take my advice and leave it for the mean-time." So Grant had given way and let his captive have still longer time to burnish the tale he was no doubt concocting. No amount of burnish, he thought thankfully, would rub out the evidence. That was there unalterable, and nothing the man might say could upset the facts. It was as much curiosity on his part, he told himself, as fear for his case that made him so eager to hear what Lamont had to say. So he bullied himself into some show of patience. He went sea-fishing in Master Robert with Drysdale, and every chug of the motor reminded him of the fish he had landed two nights ago. He went to tea at the manse, and with Miss Dinmont's imperturbable face opposite him and an odd pepper-pot alongside the salt on the table, his thoughts were almost wholly of Lamont. He went to church afterwards, partly to please his host, but mainly to avoid what was evidently going to be a tête-а-tête with Miss Dinmont if he stayed behind, and sat through a sermon in which Mr. Logan proved to his own and his congregation's satisfaction that the King of kings had no use for the fox-trot; and thought continually of the statement Lamont would give him. When the incredibly dreary noise of High-land «praise» had faded into silence for the last time and Mr. Logan had pronounced an unctuous benediction, his one thought was that now he could go back and be near Lamont. It was rapidly becoming an obsession with him, and he recognized the fact and resented it. When Mrs. Dinmont — Miss Dinmont had not come to church — reminded him as she was saying good-night that on the morrow the car would stop at the manse gate to allow them to say goodbye to Mr. Lowe, it came as a shock to him that there was more play-acting to be done before he departed from Carninnish. But things proved easier than he had anticipated. Lamont played up as he had played up during the fateful tea, and neither his host nor his hostess suspected that there was anything more serious amiss than the matter of his health. Miss Dinmont was not present. "Dandy said she had already said goodbye to you, and it is unlucky to say goodbye twice," her mother said. "She said you had been unlucky enough already. Are you a very unlucky person, then?"
"Very," said Lamont, with an admirable smile and as the car moved away, Grant took out the handcuffs.
"Sorry," he said brusquely. "It's only till we reach the railway." But Lamont merely repeated the word "Unlucky!" as if, surprisingly, he liked the sound of it. At the station they were joined by a plainclothes man, and at Inverness had a compartment to themselves. And it was after dinner that night, when the last light was going on the hills, that Lamont, pale and rather ill-looking, offered again to tell them all he knew.
"It isn't much," he said. "But I want you to know."
"You realize that what you say may he used against you?" Grant said. "Your lawyer would probably want you to say nothing. You see, it's putting your line of defence into our hands." And even while he was saying it, he was wondering: Why am I so punctilious? I've told him already that anything he says may be used against him. But Lamont wanted to talk, and so the constable produced his notebook.
"Where shall I begin?" Lamont asked. "It's difficult to know where to start."
"Suppose you tell us how you spent the day Sorrell was murdered that's a week last Tuesday — the 13th."
"Well, in the morning we packed — Bert was leaving for America that night and I took my things to my new room in Brixton and he took his to Waterloo."
Here the inspector's heart missed a beat. Fool! He'd forgotten all about the man's luggage. He had been so hot on the false scent of the Ratcliffes and then on the trail of Lamont that he hadn't had time to see the thing under his nose. Not that it was of supreme importance, in any case.
"That took us till lunchtime. We had lunch in the Coventry Street Lyons —"