"
"Eh?" roared Sir Howard; "you're not going back to-night? Your
rooms are ready for you, damn it!"
"I quite appreciate the kindness, Sir Howard," replied Harley;
"but I have urgent business to attend to in London. Believe me,
my departure is unavoidable."
The blue eyes of the baronet gleamed with the simple cunning of
his kind.
"You've got something up your sleeve," he roared. "I know you
have, I know you have!"
Inspector Wessex looked at me significantly, but I could only
shrug my shoulders in reply; for in these moods Harley was as
inscrutable as the Sphinx.
However, he had his way, and Sir Howard hurriedly putting a car
in commission, we raced for the local station and just succeeded
in picking up the express at Claybury.
Wessex was rather silent throughout the journey, often glancing
in my friend's direction, but Harley made no further reference to
the case beyond outlining the interview with Bramber, until, as
we were parting at the London terminus, Wessex to report to
Scotland Yard and I to go to Harley's rooms:
"How long do you think it will take you to find that photographer,
Wessex?" he asked. "Piccadilly is a sufficient clue."
"Well," replied the Inspector, "nothing can be done to-night, of
course, but I should think by mid-day tomorrow the matter should
be settled.
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