The Burton affair, as Pointer knew, concerned a murderer who had escaped into the United States and was very much “wanted” in his home. So, like the robberies in which Carter, as Green, was supposed to be implicated, there were no actual proofs of embezzlement made public. Pointer had very little to say that night even to O'Connor, and early next morning visited Carter in his cell. The Canadian had refused as yet to see a lawyer. The long vacation was on, and his case could not come up till the autumn. He seemed sunk in depression. And the case against him was certainly black enough. The screws found in his trunk were the mates of those which fixed the screwed-on panels to the wardrobe. He gave no explanation of them. He gave no explanation of anything, not even of the jewellery, which was to be identified by a couple of American detectives who were coming over on purpose. The Heads at the Yard were quite certain of his guilt on both counts, murder and theft, but the Chief Inspector said as little as possible. He had asked the Canadian to at least help him to trace what might have been wrapped up by Erskine in that strip of green and white paper, but after a second's flash of hope in the accused's sombre eyes he had shaken his head and refused to speak. Pointer had no sympathy whatever with this kind of an attitude. He considered it not fair to the accused and not fair to the police. It was all very well for his superiors to be so certain of Carter's guilt. When the case came up for trial it was he and not they who would have to pay for any mistake, and apart from this personal consideration, the Chief Inspector had a high standard of fair play, and the idea that he might be a party to injustice was intolerable to him. Not that he by any means thought Carter innocent. As the Canadian would not give any alibi, he apparently had had the opportunity to commit the murder. The will was considered to be an additional motive, besides wanting to get rid of an inconvenient accomplice, but what had Erskine to leave? Mr. Russell had not been able to trace any “available” funds. Yet the dead man would hardly have alluded to a stolen hoard without giving any indications as to where such a hoard might be found. “And where does Beale come in, and what of the manager, whose back garden you've been digging up so carefully?” O'Connor demanded rhetorically one night, after enduring his friend's silence as long as he could. “The manager—humph! Mr. Beale?—He certainly must have a very strong feeling against Carter. Yet he looks the last man to let his feelings alone carry him very far. And why is he so keen on seeing Carter? He makes every sort of an effort to get an order. I think he was amazed when he found out that even a letter from his ambassador wouldn't be of any use if Carter refused to see him, and refuse he does. You know, O'Connor, I'd give a good deal to place Mr. Beale in all this.” “You surprise me!” murmured the Irishman sarcastically.