“I understand Bill’s anxiety now,” said Bundle. “And the way he kept urging her to take time and not talk till she felt quite all right.”
“Poor old Bill,” said Miss St. Maur. “That poor baby had to be vamped against his will—getting madder ’n a hornet every minute.”
“Well,” said Superintendent Battle, “there it was. I suspected Mr. Thesiger—but I couldn’t get definite proof. On the other hand, Mr. Thesiger himself was rattled. He realised more or less what he was up against in the Seven Dials—but he wanted badly to know who No. 7 was. He got himself asked to the Cootes under the impression that Sir Oswald Coote was No. 7.”
“I suspected Sir Oswald,” said Bundle, “especially when he came in from the garden that night.”
“I never suspected him,” said Battle. “But I don’t mind telling you that I did have my suspicions of that young chap, his secretary.”
“Pongo?” said Bill. “Not old Pongo?”
“Yes, Mr. Eversleigh, old Pongo as you call him. A very efficient gentleman and one that could have put anything through if he’d a mind to. I suspected him partly because he’d been the one to take the clocks into Mr. Wade’s room that night. It would have been easy for him to put the bottle and glass by the bedside then. And then, for another thing, he was left-handed. That glove pointed straight to him—if it hadn’t been for one thing—”
“What?”
“The teeth marks—only a man whose right hand was incapacitated would have needed to tear off that glove with his teeth.”
“So Pongo was cleared?”