“You’re a nice fellow,” said the latter. “I’ve been waiting for you for over an hour. Your man did not know where you had gone.”
“Anything wrong,” said the other, carelessly.
“Wrong,” said Sinclair. “I should think there was. You can’t have a Home Secretary murdered for nothing. The Premier sent for Boyce this morning, and half the Cabinet have been round or calling up. They all have ‘theories’ which they want us to work out.... Luckily, Boyce is in his element, and professes great hopes of capture and all that sort of thing.”
Collins helped Sinclair to a generous whiskey and soda, took a more modest one for himself, and sat down.
“Now let’s hear all about it,” he said.
“Well,” said the other. “We have done a good deal of spade work, and the negative results are of use anyhow, though our many critics would not say so. First, as to the room. It has been so thoroughly examined that there is no possibility of the murderer having got out by any secret means.”
“I could have told you that,” said Collins almost contemptuously.
“How?” said the other.
“Well, nowadays, people in modern London houses do not have trap doors and secret panels, and all that sort of thing. That’s kept for detective stories.”
“Then how in the world did he come and go?”