Back in the Council Chamber, the detective strode over at once to the middle window.
“I’ve been thinking, Mr. Cade. This particular window is very stiff, very stiff indeed. You might have been mistaken in thinking that it was fastened. It might just have stuck. I’m sure—yes, I’m almost sure, that you were mistaken.”
Anthony eyed him keenly.
“And supposing I say that I’m quite sure I was not?”
“Don’t you think you could have been?” said Battle, looking at him very steadily.
“Well, to oblige you, superintendent, yes.”
Battle smiled in a satisfied fashion.
“You’re quick in the uptake, sir. And you’ll have no objection to saying so, careless like, at a suitable moment?”
“None whatever. I—”
He paused, as Battle gripped his arm. The superintendent was bent forward, listening.
Enjoining silence on Anthony with a gesture, he tiptoed noiselessly to the door, and flung it suddenly open.
On the threshold stood a tall man with black hair neatly parted in the middle, china blue eyes with a particularly innocent expression, and a large placid face.
“Your pardon, gentlemen,” he said in a slow drawling voice with a pronounced transatlantic accent. “But is it permitted to inspect the scene of the crime? I take it that you are both gentlemen from Scotland Yard?”