"I don't imagine it's spite," he began. "People generally have a pretty good reason when they start committing murder. It's much more likely that your uncle was in with some swindling crowd who managed to bring off a big coup. He probably did the rest out of their share of the boodle, and now he's dead they're trying to collect it."
"They won't get anything by slaughtering me," I objected.
"How do you know?" he demanded. "From what this lawyer Johnny told you there's a whole heap of stuff still unaccounted for. It must be somewhere. Why shouldn't it be here?"
"Here!" I echoed.
"Yes, here on the island, stowed away—buried. A man doesn't go and invest a lot of stolen money—not unless he's a damned fool."
I drew in a long breath. "By Jove, that's a notion!" I said. "It never occurred to me."
"No, it wouldn't," he returned kindly. "You were always a bit slow in the up-take. It's just as well you've got an intelligent friend to look after you."
There was a short pause while I did some rapid thinking.
"Bobby," I said, "do you know anything about this fellow Manning?"
He tossed away the stump of his cigar and helped himself to another.