Sir Oswald looked at him as though something in the words puzzled him. He said sharply:
“Are you telling me all that you know, Superintendent Battle?”
“All that I know —yes, Sir Oswald. What I think is a different matter. Maybe I think some rather curious things—but until thinking’s got you somewhere it’s no use talking about it.”
“And yet,” said Sir Oswald slowly, “I should like to know what you think, Superintendent Battle.”
“For one thing, sir, I think there’s a lot too much ivy about this place—excuse me, sir, you’ve got a bit on your coat—yes, a great deal too much ivy. It complicates things.”
Sir Oswald stared at him, but any reply he might have contemplated making was arrested by the entrance of Rupert Bateman.
“Oh, there you are, Sir Oswald. I’m so glad. Lady Coote has just discovered that you were missing—and she has been insisting upon it that you had been murdered by the thieves. I really think, Sir Oswald, that you had better come to her at once. She is terribly upset.”
“Maria is an incredibly foolish woman,” said Sir Oswald. “Why should I be murdered? I’ll come with you, Bateman.”
He left the room with his secretary.
“That’s a very efficient young man,” said Battle, looking after them. “What’s his name—Bateman?”
Jimmy nodded.
“Bateman—Rupert,” he said. “Commonly known as Pongo. I was at school with him.”