“What I think happened is as Collins suggested. This man read all the accounts and so got them into his head that he is quite certain he did the murder. It is not an uncommon phase.”
Boyce interrupted. “I have no patience with all this. Of course there are difficulties. Whoever heard of a case where there were not, but the evidence in my opinion is overwhelming. Anyway, I am satisfied.”
“Very good, sir, if you are convinced, that is sufficient. What does the Public Prosecutor think of it?”
“My dear Sinclair, have you been so long in the service as not to know that the Public Prosecutor is not concerned with opinions, but to make out a case on the evidence.”
“And so you think that the case is ended?”
“I think,” said Boyce unctuously, “that this poor fellow will go back to Broadmoor, from which he ought never to have been released, and that our Department will have scored a triumph.”
“By the way,” he said, as if anxious to change the conversation. “What has happened to our friend Collins, he seems to have disappeared?”
“Oh, he’s gone down to Devonshire to Sir James’ place.”
“What, is he still on some wild goose chase?”
Sinclair smiled. “I rather fancy it’s a different sort of chase from what I saw in London. Eric Sanders will have to look to his laurels.”