Wendover recovered his temper under the implied rebuke; but the inspector merely glowered. Quite evidently he was more wedded to his hypothesis than he cared to admit in plain words. “There isn't much chance of our getting the bullet,” he admitted. “It went clean through Cargill's leg, it appears. But if we do get it, and if it turns out to be from a pistol that a girl could carry without attracting attention, then perhaps Mr. Wendover will reconsider his views.” Chapter XI Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux's Evidence “I shan't be able to give you a game this morning, squire,” Sir Clinton explained at breakfast next day. “I've got another engagement.” He glanced towards Mme. Laurent-Desrousseaux's empty seat at the adjoining table, and suppressed a grin as he saw the expression on Wendover's face. “Need you advertise yourself quite so much in that quarter, Clinton?” Wendover demanded, rather put out by the turn of events. Sir Clinton's features displayed an exaggerated expression of coyness, as though he were a boy half inviting chaff on the subject of a feminine conquest. “I find her interesting, squire. And good-looking. And charming. And, shall we say, fascinating? It's a very rare combination, you'll admit; and hence I'd be sorry not to profit by it when it's thrust upon me.” Wendover was somewhat relieved by the impish expression in Sir Clinton's eye. “I've never known you to hanker after semi-society ladies before, Clinton. Is it just a freak? Or are you falling into senile decay? She's fairly obvious, you know, especially against this background.” Sir Clinton failed to suppress his grin. “Wrong both times, squire, making twice in all. It's not a freak. It's not senile decay. It's business. Sounds sordid, doesn't it, after your spangled imaginings? ‘Chief Constable Sacrifices All for Love,’ and that sort of thing. It's almost a pity to disappoint you.” Wendover's relief was obvious. “Don't singe your wings, that's all. She's a dangerous toy, by the look of her, Clinton. I shouldn't play with her too long, if I were you. What she's doing down here at all is a mystery to me.” “That's precisely what I intend to find out, squire. Hence my devotion. There were more brutal ways of finding out; but I don't share the inspector's views about how to elicit evidence. You see, she's studied in the best school of fascination, and she knows a woman can always get into a man's good graces by leading him on to talk about his work. So she's secured a number of horrific details about the dreadful powers of the police in this land of freedom from me. I think she'll part with the information I want when I ask for it.” Wendover shook his head disapprovingly. “Seems a bit underhand, that,” he commented. “The finer graces do get shoved aside in a murder case,” Sir Clinton admitted. “One regrets it; but there it is. You can't wear a collar and tie when you're going to be hanged, you know.”