"We shall be very unpopular if we stop and discuss the matter here," replied Marsden. "They've been waiting to shut the court for the last five minutes."
"Well, suppose we go and have some lunch," suggested Colin. "I know quite a decent place round the corner in the High Street, and there are one or two things I'd like to have a talk about if you're not in a great hurry."
"I was going to propose it myself," replied Marsden. "I've got one of our men coming down to take some photographs at the Red Lodge this afternoon. He'll be along about a quarter to two, so that will just spin out the time until he arrives."
They left the court, and a few minutes later they were seated at a table in a discreet little French restaurant, the stout proprietress of which greeted Colin with a motherly and familiar smile.
"It's curious you should have said that about our legal friend," began Marsden, as soon as they had given their order. "I don't set much store myself on what people call instincts; I've seen too many of 'em go wrong. All the same, from the moment I clapped my eyes on this fellow Medwin I've had a sort of feeling that he was keeping something up his sleeve."
"Something to do with the murder?" demanded Colin.
Marsden broke off a bit of crust and chewed it thoughtfully.
"On the whole I should say not," he replied. "There's no getting away from the fact that he was knocked all of a heap when he heard the news. I'm more inclined to think that he's up to some hanky-panky with regard to the old man's money. He may have a notion who the rightful heirs are, and, if so, he's probably lying low with the idea of making a bit out of it himself."
"What sort of a standing has he got in his profession?" asked Colin.
"Oh, good enough as far as it goes," returned the detective. "Still, I thought there'd be no harm in making a few inquiries, so I've asked Ainsworth to tackle the job himself. It will have to be done carefully, of course; if Medwin got wind of the fact he'd probably kick up the devil of a dust."