And now I shan't
tell you any more, or you'll know all that I know, which is too much."
The cigar was behaving itself at last, having burnt down to the fracture,
so Winter's thoughts could be given exclusively to the less important
matter of the Steynholme affair.
"To begin with," he said instantly. "Ingerman can establish a
cast-iron alibi."
"So I imagined. But he's a bad lot. I throw in that item gratuitously."
The oddly-assorted pair walked in silence until Vauxhall Bridge was in
sight. Winter pulled out a watch.
"What time did you say my train left Victoria?" he inquired.
"Plenty of time yet to make your guess and listen to further details,"
scoffed Furneaux.
"Frankly, I give it up. But, if I must share in the hunt, I tell you now
that, metaphorically speaking, I shall cling to the postmaster's daughter
till torn away by sheer force of evidence."
Furneaux dug his colleague in the ribs.
"That's the effect of constant association with me, James," he cackled
gleefully. "Ten years ago you would have pounced on Elkin. You've hit it!
I'm a prood mon the day. The pupil is equaling the master."
"You little rat, I had hanged my first murderer before you knew the
meaning of _habeas corpus_! Let's turn now, and get to business.
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