CHAPTER THIRTY-ONETwo days later Inspector Bull knocked on the Commissioner’s door.
“Hello, Bull. Good work. Sit down.”
“Thank you, sir,” Bull said. “It wasn’t really me. Field was easy. It was the girl that was hard. I’d never have guessed it in the world.”
Debenham grinned and pushed over his box of cigars.
“You see, sir, when I found the bolt in her powder table, I was sure Mrs. Colton had planted it there. I never thought of the girl’s planting it on herself. Pinkerton thinks she didn’t plant it—she didn’t know I’d seen it on Peskett’s door, and never thought I’d look for it. He’s probably right. When I did find it she was intelligent enough to let it go. Not many women are that intelligent.”
“Nor men either, Bull; be fair.”
“So I got started wrong, sir. I thought Mrs. Colton had
