“Certainly not,” said the inspector, and he hailed a passing taxi, and signed to his prisoner to get in. A small crowd had collected by this time, and stood gaping on the pavement as the taxi drove away. Chapter XIV Mainly a Love Scene Joan had fully intended to see her stepfather before the inquest and to warn him of his danger and get him to tell the truth to her at least. When Ellery came to visit her on the Thursday afternoon—the inquest was on Friday—she had been on the point of setting out for his club, with the set purpose of making him tell her the whole story. Just before dinner time, she knew, was the most likely hour for finding him at home. There would probably be difficulty in persuading him to talk freely, even to her; but she thought that she would know how to manage him. It was still too early to start, however, and she had ample time to see Ellery first. A talk with him was just what she wanted. He would sympathise with her, and, she was sure, he was just the man to help her where Carter Woodman had failed. He would throw himself into the case, and aid her to find out what she ought to do in order to clear her stepfather of the suspicion which lay upon him. Since her talk with Woodman, she had come to realise fully how grave that suspicion was; but she was sure that Bob—she and Ellery had called each other by their Christian names ever since they were children—would not only take her word for it that Walter Brooklyn could not possibly be guilty of the crimes, but be ready to use his wits and his time in proving the suspected man’s innocence. She did not quite tell herself that he would do all this because he was in love with her; but neither did she quite admit to herself that she would not have asked him unless she had been in love with him. There was some embarrassment—of which Joan was fully conscious—in Robert Ellery’s manner as he rose to greet her. “I hope I’m not in the way,” he said awkwardly, blushing as he said it. “My dear Bob, I’m so glad you’ve come. I’ve been pining for some one to whom I could really talk.” “I wasn’t at all sure whether I ought to come. I thought you might prefer to be alone, and you must have your hands very full with Sir Vernon. Of course, I’d have come sooner if I had thought you wanted me.” Again Ellery coloured. “I want you now, anyway. And it isn’t simply that I want to talk. I want to do something, and I want your help.” To help Joan! What thing better could Ellery have asked for? He would do anything in the world to help her. But what sort of help did she need? He longed to tell her that he was hers to command in any way she chose—because he loved her; but all he found himself saying was, “I say, that’s awfully jolly of you—to let me help you, I mean”—conscious of the banality of the words even as he spoke them.