The old man was quite straightforward; it was true, he had asked Sefton to change a five pound note for him, which had been given him by Lord Reckavile as wages. When his Lordship was away he never sent any money, but when he came home, he had been in the habit of giving the old servant quite large sums to carry on with.
It was quite possible, and there was nothing to be said about this, but yet Fletcher felt somehow that all these people were combining to thwart his efforts and were secretly laughing at him.
What was Halley doing in Portham? And what was Southgate up to in his nocturnal visit to the castle, for he was sure that that was where he had gone in the night, though he had no definite proof.
Halley had returned from London, so much he had learnt, and was again visiting the Sefton’s bungalow, where Summers was now openly staying as a paying guest, under Sefton’s care.
He returned from a troubled walk; his stay at Portham was already lasting too long, and hints from Headquarters had been thrown out that if he could not manage the job, he had better return.
He had allowed his thoughts to stray to the fair grace of Ena Sefton, only to have the cup dashed to the ground by the revelation of his profession, as if there was anything to be ashamed of in being a detective. It was better than an unknown adventurer anyhow, he kept on telling himself in self pity.
He arrived at the Club in a despondent mood, and was met by Brown, the constable.
The latter had an air of mystery about him.
“Well, what is it, Brown,” he asked “anything fresh?”
“Yes, sir,” said the other, glancing round.