“The obvious thing would be to tell the police.” “I suppose it would. But think of the trial—the horrible publicity of it. And I don’t a bit want to see Carter hanged, though he may deserve it. Think of poor Helen.” “My dear Joan, of course you don’t. But it’s not so easy to hush up a thing like this.” “Bob, need we tell the police? They don’t know what we’ve been doing. Must we tell them now?” “Blest if I know, darling. But I forgot to tell you about what the old lawyer chap, Bunnery, said. He wants it hushed up all right.” “Then that means we can hush it up.” “I don’t know whether we can or not. But I tell you what I suggest we do. You come down with me and see Carter Woodman. We shall have to tell him what we know, and force him to admit the whole thing. Then we’ll see what he means to do—perhaps he might agree to run away to Australia, or something, before the police find out. And then we can see old Bunnery and get his advice, and decide what to do about telling them.” Before Joan could answer this string of proposals, there came a knock at the door, and Inspector Blaikie walked into the room. Joan and Ellery evidently showed their embarrassment, for he stood looking curiously at them for a moment, and then said reassuringly that he had only come in to have a word or two, if he might. Joan asked him to sit down, and offered him a cigarette. The inspector lighted it deliberately, and then he suddenly shot a question at them. “What is it you have told the chauffeur’s wife not to tell me?” Joan looked quickly at Ellery, and Ellery looked at Joan; but neither of them answered. “Come, come, Miss Cowper. You really must not try to prevent the police from getting information or you will force us to conclude that you wish to shield the murderer.” Still Joan made no answer. “I hope, Miss Cowper, that it is only that you and your friend have been doing a little detective work on your own, and wanted to have all the credit for yourselves. But don’t you think the time has come for telling me what you know?” Ellery did not answer the question directly. “Look here, inspector,” he said, “you think we know all about these murders, and are trying to keep the truth from you.” “It looks mighty like it.” “Well, in a sense, I don’t say we haven’t been keeping something back. But I give you my word that we’re not in collusion with the murderer or anything of that sort. There is a very special reason why we can’t tell you quite everything just now—for what it is worth.” “Does the very special reason apply to Miss Cowper as well?” “Yes,” said Joan; “for the moment it does.” Ellery went on. “Of course, I know you have a grievance. You’re going to tell us that we are abetting the criminal, whoever he is, and that we shall be getting into trouble if we’re not careful.” “So you will,” said the inspector. “Very serious trouble.”