“To the Honourable Claude Hilden, Private Secretary to the Right Honourable the Earl of Penshurst.
“Personal and private.
“Dear Sir,—Kindly inform Lord Penshurst at once by telephone that the writer of this note—Mr. James Robinson, of Bruton Street—whose rooms were burglariously entered by yourself yesterday afternoon—is in an awkward predicament.
“For your own convenience I occupied, besides the flat in Bruton Street, rooms in Walter's Hotel. During my absence to-night an atrocious murder was committed in those rooms. The detectives called in to take charge of the case are convinced that, while I am not the murderer, I am involved in the conspiracy which brought it about. That conspiracy is perfectly well known to Lord Penshurst. There is no justification for my arrest, and the result of police-court proceedings must compel me to make revelations which may prove exceedingly awkward to his lordship.
“I recognise that there must be an inquest, and I am prepared to give evidence there. Nothing I may say there, however, will in any way involve the Prime Minister.
“I venture to write to you and point these things out, and to ask you that you should immediately communicate with Lord Penshurst by telephone, as, although I am practically in ignorance of all that is going on about me, I realise that some very important matter is involved which Lord Penshurst desires to keep to himself.—I am, yours faithfully,
“James Robinson.”
Westerham fastened the note down, sealed it, and handed it to Rookley, who instructed Moore to take it immediately to Downing Street.
There, Moore told Rookley afterwards, he had the unusual experience of seeing Mr. Hilden go pale as death, and of hearing him mutter excitedly to himself.
Then the private telephone was busy for some ten minutes, and presently Mr. Hilden came back still greatly agitated, and told Moore to instruct Rookley that Mr. Robinson was on no account to be detained.
Both the men were, moreover, enjoined to complete silence, and told that not a word of the matter must be breathed to anyone except the Commissioner himself.
When Moore came back with these various messages, Rookley sat for some moments as though entirely overcome.
When at last he spoke his voice was husky.
“I don't know what it's all about, sir,” he said to Westerham, “or who you may be. Apparently it is none of my business to inquire; but I tell you frankly that this beats everything that I have ever known in the course of my long experience.
“You will naturally have to take another room, as the body must not be touched till the police-surgeon has seen it, when it can be removed to the mortuary. You will get your summons for the inquest in the morning.”