CHAPTER XIV.

Inspector Pinkey had not completed his breakfast—indeed, had not intended to have completed it—when Lady Denton sat down.

Mr. Wheeler, reflecting complacently, as his morning express glided swiftly and smoothly through the London suburbs, on the power of the half-truth to deceive with greater safety and certainty than can be expected from any lie, might feel, with some reason, that he had had the best of the verbal skirmish with which he had started his business day. But he may have failed to consider the equal importance of the ancient proverb, Magna est veritas, et praevalebit, which was also destined to take a hand in the game.

Inspector Pinkey, carefully adjusting the facts he had previously assembled to the new ones which Mr. Wheeler had contributed, had no difficulty in believing that Redwin had threatened exposure of a taxation irregularity, nor in supposing that it was on that business that he had seen Messrs. Forbes and Fisher, and they had shown him the door. But, as he recalled his conversation with the discarded secretary, he was unable to accept this as a satisfactory explanation of the hint the man had given that he had anticipated Sir Daniel’s death.

It is true that men have occasionally committed suicide under pressure of taxation difficulties, or when threatened with prosecution for discovered irregularities in the degree of their submission to the shearing process, but such a position had not arisen, even if Sir Daniel would have been likely to meet it in such a manner. Besides, had he been in a condition of desperate panic, he had an available remedy. He could have become reconciled to Redwin, which, however distasteful, was surely a milder solution than that which the pistol offered.

Redwin’s statement might be no more than an empty boast, but if it had any basis of truth (as the Inspector was inclined to believe), it must be found elsewhere than in the incident which Mr. Wheeler had mentioned. The Inspector felt that there was still something he did not know. He resolved that he would make it his next occupation to give Mr. Redwin another visit, and, as he made the usual superficial conversational exchanges with Lady Denton, while these thoughts passed through his mind, he modified a previous decision to spare her the ordeal of further questions, and resolved that he would have the account of Redwin’s departure from her own mouth.

It was fortunate for Lady Denton then that Mr. Wheeler had seen the importance of those whispered words in the hall, and had made opportunity to speak them. When the Inspector remarked casually that he had seen Mr. Redwin yesterday at the Station Inn, and asked, in an equally casual way, when and why Sir Daniel had turned him out, she knew that it was no more than Mr. Wheeler had told already, as he had had it from her.

She answered readily, and the Inspector had no difficulty in believing the tale he heard. But it did not follow that there was no more to be told. He asked, when she finished, in the same casual conversational way, not realizing, from long habit, the baseness of what he did: “Do you know whether Sir Daniel saw or heard any more of him after that?”

If there were anything to conceal, and he could have passed her guard, it was evident that the thrust had gone wide. “No,” she said, instantly and frankly enough. “I don’t think he did. But he didn’t always tell me. No, I should say not.”

She was silent a moment after that, and then added, in a more deliberate way: “I suppose you’re trying to find anything that could connect him with what happened afterwards. Of course, I should be glad if you could. It would be worth anything to get it cleared up. But I think it’s a waste of time, all the same. I don’t see how he could have had anything to do with it, being so far away.”

Was she telling the truth now? There was nothing in word or manner to suggest a lie. But there was a difference. She would talk sometimes in a frank, natural way, which was of an obvious and unstudied spontaneity, as she had done a moment ago. At others, such as these, she became, it seemed, consciously deliberate in the words she chose. What was the significance of the change? Inspector Pinkey, for all his experience, was not sure.

She was saying no more now than he heard from all sides, and had said himself—that it would be very satisfactory in itself to be able to connect Redwin with the crime (he seemed actually dressed for the part!), but it couldn’t be done, and it was time wasted to try.

It had a sound of genuine advice from one who, if innocent, had so much to gain in security and peace of mind, if the murderer could be found; or, if guilty, could have no obvious motive in objecting to suspicion being directed elsewhere.

Inspector Pinkey saw that the advice had the apparent value of that which is against the interest of the one who gives it. Only if Lady Denton were more afraid of something that further questioning of Redwin would reveal than of the present suspicion under which she lay, could her words be interpreted as less innocent than they appeared. It was not a probable supposition, but he determined to investigate it further before he struck Redwin off the mental list of those to whom he still looked to contribute, willingly or unwillingly, to the solution of the problem he had in hand. He would be, as he had resolved already, at the Station Inn again before lunchtime came.

Lady Denton broke the silence, speaking again in her consciously deliberate manner: “Mr. Wheeler tells me that if it’s decided that it was suicide, we may lose £30,000 of insurance money. It’s a dreadful lot, and he wanted me to say that I can’t believe it was that. But I can’t see how it could have been anything else. So I told him, if he doesn’t agree, he’d better not ask me about it at all.”

“Yes,” the Inspector said vaguely, “I suppose that’s the best way.” His mind was on the questions he could frame to make Redwin talk. But, in fact, Mr. Redwin was not disturbed that morning, and he had lunch alone, for Inspector Pinkey had found other business to do.