"There’s something else, sir," he continued. "This Mrs. Marple wasn’t at the house that night. What evidence is there that Silverdale and the Deepcar girl ever went home at all after they’d dined down town? There’s no corroboration of that story. Why not assume that the Deepcar girl was an actual accomplice on the spot? She and Silverdale may have driven out to the bungalow after dinner, and she may have stood at the window during the whole affair. There’s nothing against that, if you discount her story. My reading of the Deepcar girl is that she may be surface-shy, so to speak, but she’s got good strong fibre in her character underneath. Look how she faced up to you not ten minutes ago. Not much shyness about that."
"I think I’d have been a bit stirred up myself, Inspector, if you came along in my absence and pawed over all my private possessions. One isn’t necessarily a scoundrel if one turns peevish over a thing of that sort."
The Inspector let the point pass.
"Have you any notion who this Mr. Justice can be, sir?"
"I’ve a pretty fair notion, but it’s only a notion. Who stands to profit by the affair?"
Some recollection seemed to cross the Inspector’s mind.
"Spratton, of course, sir. And now I come to think of it, if you shaved off your moustache, he’s very like you in face and build. If Spratton’s going to collect his insurance on young Hassendean, then murder’s got to be proved."
"Well," said Sir Clinton lightly. "I trust Mr. Spratton will get what he deserves in the matter."
Inspector Flamborough had to wait a couple of days before his unknown ally, Justice, made any further move. It so happened that Sir Clinton was not at headquarters when the post brought the expected communication; and the Inspector had plenty of time to consider the fresh evidence, unbiased by his superior’s comments. As soon as the Chief Constable reappeared, Flamborough went to him to display the latest document in the case.
"This came by the midday post, sir," he explained, laying some papers on the table. "It’s Mr. Justice again. The results of his raid on the Deepcar house, it seems."
Sir Clinton picked up the packet and opened out the papers. Some photographic prints attracted his attention, but he laid them aside and turned first to a plain sheet of paper on which the now familiar letters from telegraph forms had been gummed. With some deliberation he read the message.
"I enclose photographs of part of the correspondence which has recently taken place between Dr. Silverdale and Miss Deepcar.
"JUSTICE."
Sir Clinton gazed at the sheet for a moment or two, as though considering some matter unconnected with the message. At last he turned to the Inspector.
"I suppose you’ve tried this thing for finger-prints? No good, eh? I can still smell a faint whiff of rubber from it—off his gloves, I suppose."
Flamborough shook his head in agreement with Sir Clinton’s surmise.
"Nothing on it whatever, sir," he confirmed.
The Chief Constable laid down the sheet of paper and took up one of the photographs. It was of ordinary half-plate size and showed a slightly reduced copy of one page of a letter.
that things cannot go on any longer in this way.
The plan we talked over last seems the best. When I have given Hassendean hints about the use of hyoscine, he will probably see for himself how to get what he wants. After that, it merely means watching them, and I am sure that we shall soon have her out of our way. It will be very easy to make it seem intentional on their part; and no one is likely to look further than that.
Flamborough watched the Chief Constable’s face as he read the message, and as soon as he saw that Sir Clinton had completed his perusal of it, the Inspector put in his word.
"I’ve checked the writing, sir. It’s Silverdale’s beyond any doubt."
The Chief Constable nodded rather absent-mindedly and took up another of the prints. This showed a largely-magnified reproduction of the first two lines of the document; and for a minute or so Sir Clinton subjected the print to a minute scrutiny with a magnifying glass.
"It’s an original, right enough," Flamborough ventured to comment at last. "Mr. Justice has been very thorough, and he’s given us quite enough to prove that it isn’t a forgery. You can see there’s no sign of erasing or scraping of any sort on the paper of the original; and the magnification’s big enough to show up anything of that sort."
"That’s true," Sir Clinton admitted. "And so far as one can see, the lines of the writing are normal. There are none of those halts-in-the-wrong-place that a forger makes if he traces a manuscript. The magnification’s quite big enough to show up anything of that sort. I guess you’re right, Inspector, it’s a photograph of part of a real document in Silverdale’s own handwriting."
