There followed a paragraph in praise of their worthy official, and in self-laudation of the Press generally, whose co-operation had been so effectual.
Collins put it down with a smile.
“So that’s that,” he said. “I wash my hands of the case.”
On his way back to his flat he stopped at a Post Office, and sent off a wire. “Delighted to accept your kind invitation. Will come tomorrow,” and addressed it to “Miss Watson, The Vale, Holbrook.”
Chapter X.
The Portrait
A surprise awaited Collins on his arrival at Wilton-on-Sea. Eric Sanders was on the platform, and came forward with a pleasant smile. He was a changed being. The sulky petulance was gone, and he seemed like a man from whom a load of care has been removed. His manner was friendly without being effusive.
Collins surveyed him keenly.
He was too used to studying human nature not to notice the change, and too clever to show that he saw it.
They drove to the Vale among the autumn trees and over the hills from whence magnificent views stretched out beneath them. Eric opened the conversation.
“You people have done a smart bit of work capturing the murderer of Sir James so quickly,” he said. “The papers were full of it this morning.”