“I hope you’ll do nothing of the sort,” interposed the inspector. “A prisoner under arrest can’t be questioned, and I think that Du Pine free will be more useful to me than under lock and key. We’ll have him kept under observation, though.”

“He practically begged me to arrest him this morning when we were at the office with him,” said Renshaw. “Do you think he knows the Judges’ Rules and feels he would be safer that way?”

“I dare say he knows a lot,” replied Mallett, “but not so much as I shall know by this evening, I hope.”

13
MOTHER AND SON

Thursday, November 19th

Frank Harper was packing. The flimsy floors and walls of the little house echoed to the crash of drawers opening and shutting and to his loud shouts of annoyance as he pursued his elusive belongings up and down his untidy bedroom. Mrs. Harper heard him as she came in, her arms full of the fruits of an afternoon’s arduous shopping. Characteristically, she dropped them all where she stood in the shabby passage that did duty for a hall, and ran upstairs at once to her son’s room.

“Frank!” she exclaimed, pushing her untidy grey hair back from her eyes. “Whatever are you doing?”

“Packing,” he answered briefly. “Haven’t I got a clean evening shirt anywhere?”

“In the linen cupboard, dear. I’ll get it for you. But why? Where are you off to?”

“To Lewes. And I haven’t too much time to catch my train, either. Do get that shirt, Mother, there’s a darling.”

Mrs. Harper obediently trotted away, a puzzled frown on her kindly, stupid face, and returned almost immediately.

“Here it is, dear,” she said. “I had to darn the neck, but it really doesn’t show when you’ve got it on.”

“Thanks, Mother.” He examined the darn disdainfully. “Oh well, I suppose it will have to do.” He crammed the shirt on to the top of the overflowing suitcase. “Now I think that’s everything.”

“You’ve forgotten your sponge-bag, haven’t you, darling?”

“Good lord, yes! Now how the devil am I to get that in?”

“Shall I do it for you?” Mrs. Harper was on her knees, coaxing recalcitrant objects into place with her toil-worn fingers. “But why to Lewes, dear?”

“I’m staying the night with the Jenkinsons. You know. I’ve told you about her—about them, I mean.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m so silly nowadays, I forget people’s names. I hope you enjoy yourself.” Then she paused in her work and looked up at him. “But Frank, how is it that you’re not at work?”

Frank laughed.

“I’ve left that place,” he said. “For good.”

“Left it? Oh Frank, you don’t mean that Mr. Browne has——”