when I heard the drone of Harley’s motor in the avenue, and a moment later he and Wessex stepped out in front of the porch and joined me. I thought that Wessex looked stern and rather confused, but Harley was quite his old self, his keen eyes gleaming humorously, and an expression of geniality upon his tanned features.
“Hullo, Knox!” he cried, “any developments?”
“Yes,” I said. “Suppose we go up to your room and talk.”
“Good enough.”
Inspector Wessex nodded without speaking, and the three of us mounted the staircase and entered Paul Harley’s room. Harley seated himself upon the bed and began to load his pipe, whilst Wessex, who seemed very restless, stood staring out of the window. I sat down in the armchair, and:
“I have had an interesting interview with Mrs. Camber,” I said.
“What?” exclaimed Harley. “Good. Tell us all about it.”
Wessex turned, hands clasped behind him, and listened in silence to an account which I gave of my visit to the Guest House. When I had finished:
“It seems to me,” said the Inspector, slowly, “that the only doubtful point in the case against Camber is cleared up; namely, his motive.”
“It certainly looks like it,” agreed Harley. “But how strangely Mrs. Camber’s story differs from that of Menendez—although there are points of contact. I regret, however, that you were unable to settle the most important matter of all.”
“You mean whether or not she had visited Cray’s Folly?”
“Exactly.”
