DETECTIVE-INSPECTOR WESSEX arrived at about five o’clock; a quiet, resourceful man, highly competent, and having the appearance of an ex-soldier. His respect for the attainments of Paul Harley alone marked him a student of character. I knew Wessex well, and was delighted when Pedro showed him into the library.
“Thank God you are here, Wessex,” said Harley, when we had exchanged greetings. “At last I can move. Have you seen the local officer in charge?”
“No,” replied the Inspector, “but I gather that I have been requisitioned over his head.”
“You have,” said Harley, grimly, “and over the head of the Chief Constable, too. But I suppose it is unfair to condemn a man for the shortcoming with which nature endowed him, therefore we must endeavour to let Inspector Aylesbury down as lightly as possible. I have an idea that I heard him return a while ago.”
He walked out into the hall to make enquiries, and a few moments later I heard Inspector Aylesbury’s voice.
“Ah, there you are, Inspector Aylesbury,” said Harley, cheerily. “Will you please step into the library for a moment?”
The Inspector entered, frowning heavily, followed by my friend.
“There is no earthly reason why we should get at
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