“OH, I see,” said Inspector Aylesbury, “a little private confab, eh?”
He sank his chin into its enveloping folds, treating Harley and myself each to a stare of disapproval.
“These gentlemen very kindly called to advise me of the tragic occurrence at Cray’s Folly,” explained Colin Camber. “Won’t you be seated, Inspector?”
“Thanks, but I can conduct my examination better standing.”
He turned to Paul Harley.
“Might I ask, Mr. Harley,” he said, “what concern this is of yours?”
“I am naturally interested in anything appertaining to the death of a client, Inspector Aylesbury.”
“Oh, so you slip in ahead of me, having deliberately withheld information from the police, and think you are going to get all the credit. Is that it?”
“That is it, Inspector,” replied Harley, smiling. “An instance of professional jealousy.”
“Professional jealousy?” cried the Inspector. “Allow me to remind you that you have no official standing in this case whatever. You are merely a member of the public, nothing more, nothing less.”
“I am happy to be recognized as a member of that much-misunderstood body.”
223
