“So Pongo was cleared, as you say. I’m sure it would be a great surprise to Mr. Bateman to know he was ever suspected.”
“It would,” agreed Bill. “A solemn card—a silly ass like Pongo. How you could ever think—”
“Well, as far as that goes, Mr. Thesiger was what you might describe as an empty-headed young ass of the most brainless description. One of the two was playing a part. When I decided that it was Mr. Thesiger, I was interested to get Mr. Bateman’s opinion of him. All along, Mr. Bateman had the gravest suspicions of Mr. Thesiger and frequently said as much to Sir Oswald.”
“It’s curious,” said Bill, “but Pongo always is right. It’s maddening.”
“Well, as I say,” went on Superintendent Battle, “we got Mr. Thesiger fairly on the run, badly rattled over this Seven Dials business and uncertain just where the danger lay. That we got him in the end was solely through Mr. Eversleigh. He knew what he was up against, and he risked his life cheerfully. But he never dreamt that you would be dragged into it, Lady Eileen.”
“My God, no,” said Bill with feeling.
“He went round to Mr. Thesiger’s rooms with a cooked-up tale,” continued Battle. “He was to pretend that certain papers of Mr. Devereux’s had come into his hands. Those papers were to suggest a suspicion of Mr. Thesiger. Naturally, as the honest friend, Mr. Eversleigh rushed round, sure that Mr. Thesiger would have an explanation. We calculated that if we were right, Mr. Thesiger would try and put Mr. Eversleigh out of the way, and we were fairly certain as to the way he’d do it. Sure enough, Mr. Thesiger gave his guest a whisky and soda. During the minute or two that his host was out of the room, Mr. Eversleigh poured that into a jar on the mantelpiece, but he had to pretend, of