CHAPTER

GARFIELD IT WAS WHO SUGGESTED that they should walk back to the station and, having paid off the "hearse," they started on their tramp. For ten minutes or so, the inspector marched in silence. Then he glanced whimsically at Jimmie.

      "Got it worked out?" he asked.

      Silverdale shook his head. "You've got more of the thread in your hand than I have. I'd hate to make a guess. I'll admit that I never had a doubt that Grimes was Grimes until you sprang it that he was Eston. That was a beautiful bit of camouflage."

      "Its very audacity disarmed you, Jimmie. There's no doubt that I'd have fallen for it, too, but that I was worried by something—it may have been the voice or the manner, or the appearance, or the man's anxiety to know things. I don't know how many hundreds of inspectors of provincial police there are in this country, and I give my word, I couldn't keep tab of 'em, even if I knew 'em. However, when he introduced himself, I had a vague idea that I'd heard or seen the name somewhere before and that, with my uneasiness, set my memory hard at work. There wasn't any Sherlocking or identification business required. I remembered a little two-line paragraph that I'd seen a fortnight ago, telling of the presentation of a gold watch to Superintendent Grimes on his retirement. Eston fell because of that little point. I don't pretend I'd have known him until I began to look for someone, other than a police officer."

      "Yes, but why should he do it? This is the second time. He pulled me up in town, when I shouldn't have known him from Adam. Why go out of his way to look for us? I'd have thought held have bolted down his burrow and let us do all the worrying in this game of touch."

      The inspector slipped his arm through Silverdale's.

      "So would I, if he were not Eston. I can think of fifty reasons for his action, but I'm not sure which is the right one. That's why I let him go just now."

      It has been said before that Chief-Detective Inspector Garfield had a, certain amount of human nature in his composition. He was an able man and though he scorned the appreciation of mediocrities, like all able men, he was not averse from a certain naiveness in displaying his cleverness in a quiet way. From the corner of his eyes be watched Silverdale Is face for a due expression of surprise before he sprang any further information. Jimmie Silverdale, however, showed no surprise. He gave a tiny jerk of the head and flung a cigarette butt into the hedge.

      "So you had a reason—or fifty reasons. I thought something of that kind was in your mind. I'm glad I was right. It would have hurt me to think that he got away if you really wanted him."

      "You—you—" Garfield choked. "Why, you scoundrel, you don't mean to say you did the same thing? You let him go, also?"

      "I took a chance. It seemed to me that, for a man of your experience, that slip was too easy. You'd decided to let Eston go and it wasn't for me to butt in and spoil whatever you'd got in your mind. So I did a bit of play-acting myself. Otherwise it wouldn't have been convincing."

      "Well, I'm not quite sure whether we've done right or wrong. Eston is likely to he a handful, but if I'd taken him then, he might have slipped through our fingers with the help of a shrewd lawyer. You see, legally, there is nothing against him so far as the murder is concerned. Actually, of course, if he didn It kill Saxon, he is bound up in the business. I want to know where. He Is taking big risks in a big way and that means something. He may give us the slip but on the whole the odds are that if we do get anything definite to act on we'll be able to find him. He's playing a game. Our last chance of finding out what that game is, is, as a respected politician put it, to 'wait and see.' "

      "You think—" Silverdale hesitated—"I have you still the idea that Hilary Sloane is concerned with it?"

      "I reserve judgment. She is fitted into Eston's scheme somehow, whether as pawn or something bigger it is hard to say. I'm as anxious as ever to see that young lady, Jimmie, and I'll admit that is one reason why I played bogey just now. Here Is a point. She and Miss Dring are in this neighborhood somewhere, for Eston wouldn't have hung about merely for play-acting with us. Velvet Fred left for Reading this morning—there's no reason why he shouldn't have dropped off here. Everything points the same way."

      "Then Hilary—Miss Sloane—"

      "If it's any relief to you, "I'll own one thing. It looks to me more probable that Miss Sloane is innocent than that she is guilty. This wire she sent you rather gives one the impression that she has become unwilling to help out Eston and his gang, whatever her associations with them were before. She's had some strong motive for her actions all through—if I could get her, I'd have a lead through this tangle."

      Garfield was careful to leave himself a loophole. Hilary Sloane might still be guilty, though he had his own reasons for thinking she might not. Jimmie was not slow to grasp the impression that had formed in the inspector's mind.

      "I'd stake my immortal soul on her innocence," he said earnestly.

      "I've heard you say something like that before, " commented Garfield dryly. "Personally, I wouldn't stake a new hat on anyone's innocence in a matter of murder. I have found many murderers very nice people, Jimmie. They have to be hanged, as a rule, and that is why I oppose indiscriminate capital punishment. The psychology of murder is a very deep subject and I've looked for the truth in a number of high-brow books on criminology and never found it. Now over a good many years I've come to a conclusion that is clean against all the detective writers. They assume—it's part of their trade, I suppose— that the obvious solution to a crime problem is invariably the wrong one. My own view is that, in nine cases out of ten it's right.

      "Now Hilary Sloane is a woman and when women commit crimes of violence, as a general rule they don't calculate too much on their chances of making a getaway. In calculated crimes by women, they use poison rather than the knife or pistol. If crime could be reduced to absolute principles that would let women out on all these affairs. There are, however, a hundred different factors in these cases and the probability of a woman being concerned can not be dismissed. Getting down to this concrete case, there is the fact that some physical force was necessary to tie Saxon up. There was premeditation all through and though a woman's hatpin was used, in my view the chances are that it was not a woman."

      A springiness had come into Jimmie's step as the detective talked. A heavy weight had been taken from his mind and he broke out into a cheerful whistle. The chief inspector smiled quietly at the hedge-row. Then Jimmie Is whistle broke off abruptly.

      "On your theory—"

      "I don't hold theories," interrupted Garfield. "They're too dangerous for the Criminal Investigation Department."

      "On your supposition, then, Miss Sloane is being held a prisoner by Eston against her will?"

      "Something of that sort. I'm not sure it Is against her will. Eston has some hold on her."

      "Ah." The journalist became thoughtful. "What's the next move? How do you propose to smoke them out?"

      Garfield paused to light his pipe. Then he stooped to brush his trousers with a handkerchief. "Can't keep clean in the country," he grumbled. "Well, to tell you the truth, Jimmie, I propose to go through this country with a fine-tooth comb. You can't hide three ablebodied people in these days. It's a sheer impossibility. And just for once I'm going to look to you to give a hand while I use my own methods. It's up to you to become a publicity agent. With the help of the Daily Wire, we ought to get 'em."

      Jimmie shook his head resolutely. "No good, Garfield. I hate to refuse but I'm not going to drag Miss Sloane's name through the mud and slops of a murder case."

      "Don't lose your sense of perspective, old lad," said Garfield. "I don't want to alarm you, but you must remember that this lady is in Eston's power." He brought down a heavy fist into the palm of an open hand. "We've simply got to find her. You may regret it all your life if you neglect a single chance. Don't use her name unless you like. But give her description, her photograph, everything that you can to arouse public interest. You can tell the whole story— with discretion, of course— but, for Heaven's sake, get on to it, Jimmie. You must!"

      The journalist smoked furiously while he considered the proposition. He hated the idea of smudging Hilary Sloane's name by turning on her the great searchlight of the Press. It is not a nice thing to be associated with a cause célèbre, however innocent one may be. Nor, in the light of his knowledge of Garfield, was he altogether inclined to be too trusting.

      Yet, on the other hand, if the case ever reached a criminal court, Hilary would obviously be a witness. She could not be kept out of the picture in the ultimate result. To hold his hand would merely delay matters. Again, the girl was in Eston's power. If the great weapon be had at his disposal could ensure that the business would be over a week—even a day —or an hour sooner—was it not his business to use it? In any ease he could not prevent Garfield from doing so. There were other papers than the Daily Wire—other reporters than Jimmie Silverdale.

      "Garfield," he said soberly, "you've gathered that I hope to persuade Miss Sloane to marry me some day."

      The inspector nodded. "I appreciate that, Jimmie. If for that reason alone you should do as I say. If I told you Eston's reputation—"

      Jimmie slipped a finger round the inside of the tall collar he affected. "Yes—I'll do it," he said slowly. "I don't know whether I'm right or not, but I'll do it."