He called at the inspector's flat after dinner. The inspector was still at the office, but Nora commented on his restlessness immediately.
"What are you working on, Jim? Of course you're through with the Elmford case."
"Not quite."
He faced her, fighting back the quick emotions in which her proximity always involved him. He loved her too much to risk demanding at random a fixed understanding. Moreover, with this case on his mind, it was clearly not the hour.
"I've arranged for a number of subpoenas to be served in the morning," he said. "The servants have left the house. Your father has arranged to call his men in. In an hour or so the house will be empty. Nora—I—can't stay long this evening."
"Jim! What's on your mind? It's a clear case."
"Yes," he answered. "That's why Jones and the other flat-foot your father sent out yesterday didn't search the neighborhood far enough to find the stone building where Randall hid. It's why when I arrested him I didn't look it over either. The arrest at the time seemed enough. But he didn't act like a man caught with the goods. Your father says he's clever. Maybe he is, but I wonder if he is to that extent. It's been the trouble all along. It's too clear a case. I talked to his lawyers this afternoon. He's refused to put in any defence."
"Isn't that proof, Jim, that he knows he hasn't a chance?"
He fumbled, almost unconsciously, with the button-hole in the lapel of his coat.
"It might mean," he answered, "that he was protecting somebody else, and that makes one wonder if there mightn't be something in the house—letters, perhaps, in that bedroom I've never had a chance to explore—something he would like to have destroyed."