“How’s that for a bit of sensation for the newspapers? Maxwell Fair—Phew!”
“But how ever did you come to talk to the young lady at the house? Was that quite prudent, do you think? Isn’t she a bit skittish?” asked the Inspector when he resumed his seat. “Poor little innocent!—what a fool she was to come here and tell us that he didn’t do it, eh?”
“Oh, the governess—ain’t she a circus?” laughed Ferret. “What a deep one to come and tell us not to send any horrid detectives! You see, she was in the library when I went up there during their dinner to have a look round for the cause of the shooting, and, incidentally, for the Cuban, though I knew he must be higher up in the house somewhere—attic probably. I had to get the blooming girlie out of the library, so I opened up my little plan about having her watch for the Cuban, and she took to it like a trout after a fly. That was before whatever happened a little while afterward which opened her eyes and changed her bearings. When I went out of the house I let Wilson into it, to be ready to investigate the library when pretty Kate came down to watch the door—but the row that sent them all hurrying from the dinner-table altered that. I stood just over the way under a tree, when out comes my little lady, not following the Cuban, for he hadn’t come out of the house, but all by her lone and all of a blue funk. She hops into a cab at the corner and I into the next one—and she got here half a minute ahead of me. Glory what luck we’re playing to; why, it’s better than——”
He was interrupted by the telephone bell. The Inspector answered it: “Well? Who? Yes. Yes. Ferret is here—with me in my office. What? No? Wait—Ferret will speak to you. Good. All right.”
Sharpe turned to Ferret: “Here, Ferret, it’s Wilson—says something’s up. Better get it yourself.”
Ferret grabbed the instrument eagerly. The case was developing a trifle too rapidly. What could Wilson, whom he had left under the stairs at Mr. Fair’s, want so soon?
(To be continued.)