"Spare me, I am overburdened with information as it is."
Jones sat back. He had no intention of taking Dunwoodie then behind the
scenes. That would come later. But he did want to try out an invention
that had occurred to him. He sighed.
"Don't you care to hear why he did it?"
"Not in the least."
"But----"
Dunwoodie fumbled in a pocket. "The district attorney may be more
receptive. I shall go to him in the morning and I will thank you to go
with me."
"I am not up in the morning."
"Then don't go to bed."
From the pocket, Dunwoodie extracted an enormous handkerchief. It
fascinated Jones. He had never seen one that resembled it.
"You dispose of me admirably. The district attorney, I suppose, will
enter a nolle prosequi."
In that handkerchief, Dunwoodie snorted. "You may suppose what you
like."
Jones laughed. "It is my business to suppose. I suppose, when the murder
was committed, that Lennox was at home. If I am right, he has an alibi
which his servant can confirm."
Dunwoodie stared. "Whatever your business may be, it is not to teach me
mine."
Jones drew out a cigarette-case. "Let me sit at your feet then. What
does Lennox say?"
"How inquisitive you are! But to be rid of you, he----"
"May I smoke?" Jones interrupted.
"Good God, sir! You are not preparing to make a night of it?"
"I have one or two other little matters in hand. But since I may suppose
all I like, I take it that Lennox intended to go to the opera, though I
fancy also that he had no intention of going to Paliser's box. I suppose
that he intended to wait about and go for him hot and heavy when he came
out. I suppose also that, while dressing, he changed his mind. And, by
the way, isn't there such a writ as a mandamus, or a duces tecum? I
would like my paper-cutter returned."
"Confound your paper-cutter! You don't deserve to have me admit it, but
Lennox' account of it is that before going on to the opera, he stopped
to write a letter to Miss--er--Hum! Ha!"
"Miss Austen?"
"And when he got through it was midnight."
"I'll lay a pippin he didn't send it."
"What, sir?"
"Lennox had a lot to say. It was gagging him. He would have suffocated
if he had kept it in. The effect of getting it on black and white was an
emetic. He read it over, judged it inadequate, tore it up. I have done
the same thing. I daresay you have."
The great man sat back. "His scrap-basket has been visited. The letter
was there."
"Well, then, I suppose the short and long of it is, you will have him
out to-morrow."
"As I said, you may suppose all you like."
"Without indiscretion then, may I suppose that you live here alone?"
Dunwoodie flourished his handkerchief. It was cotton and big as a towel.
"I am not as young as you are, sir, and whether erroneously or not, I
believe myself better informed."
"Ah!" Jones put in. "Your physiognomy corroborates you. I have sometimes
thought that it were difficult for the Seven Sages to be as wise as you
look--which is the reason, perhaps, why I do not quite follow you."
"I did not imagine that you would. You are a sociable being. Every
imbecile is pitiably sociable. But for a thinking man, a man without
vices and without virtues, what is there except solitude?"
Appreciatively Jones motioned. "Thank you for descending to my level. As
it happens, I also have a cloister where I have the double advantage of
being by myself and of not being with others. But now that I am in your
hermitage, there is this Matter of Ziegler, concerning which I would
like the benefit of your professional advice."
"Hum! Ha! Got yourself mixed up with a woman and want me to pull you
out. Well, sir, you will find it expensive. But a hermitage is not an
office. I shall expect you at mine to-morrow. I shall expect you before
ten."
Dunwoodie stood up. "To-morrow, though, your turpitudes will have to
wait. Have you been served?"