“I don’t understand you, Jannaway.” “Maybe not, Mr Shapter. Maybe it’s a side of my business to be misunderstood, and a side of yours to know it.” “Well, I should have thought I knew you pretty well by this time.” “_Should_ you, sir? With respect, and judging by results, I must take leave to doubt it.” “Well, Jannaway, well.” The detective warmed a little, his grievance coming to an irresistible head. “Look you here, Mr Shapter,” he said. “If we’re all to be judged by what we go a-boasting of ourselves, we might as well petition the Almighty to open Paradise again, and give us that Valombroso for our head gardener. But He’s not to be took in, like some folks, by the clanging of an empty brass pot; and mayhap He’d ask for a little more proof of what was at the inside of all the noise that pretended to such a bellyful of wisdom. It’s time for a cock to crow when it’s out of the egg.” “But really, inspector, mayn’t silence sometimes be a little empty too?” “That’s for you to judge, sir.” “I am your very humble servant, Jannaway.” “Then, sir, if you’ll come along with me, I’ll show you where the body of this man Dalston is lying at this moment.” “Dead?” The bolt, loosed serenely from that official blue, caught us fairly in the wind, and sent us staggering. The whispered cry came from us together. The inspector nodded his head, with his lips set very grim. “Dead, gentlemen. Look in a well, they say, for truth. It’s worth bearing in mind.” “In a well!” “In a well, sir. Mrs Dalston done him. I’ve got her under arrest at this moment.” “Murder?” The detective with a swift movement gripped my arm. “Hold on, sir,” he said. “It’ll pass in a bit.” “I’m all right,” I whispered huskily. “Did she murder him!” “I didn’t say she did, now did I?” he protested. “She drove him to kill himself, if you want the truth. We got him up at daybreak, and he’s lying in the parlour now. _His_ ticket’s cancelled for good and all. I want you over there at once, Mr Shapter; but the young gentleman needn’t come unless he likes.” “I’m ready,” I retorted fiercely. “What do you suppose? Have I run him so far to shirk the end? Come, hurry; what are you waiting for?” “Well,” said the detective, “he’s not a pretty sight, that’s all. There’s few as is what shoots themselves in the head.” I stared at him; I would ask no more. In a minute we were on our way. “Since when have you known this, Jannaway?” asked Mr Shapter, pale and breathless, as we hurried on. “Only since early this morning for certain, sir,” answered the man. “But I’d been awake and busy half the night before, while the Italian gentleman, I suppose, was a-fuming and a-packing of his bag. He’d better have waited a little longer. I couldn’t have kept the truth from him another day.” “How long have you been keeping it from him, from us all, as it is?”