MITCHINGTON AND THE man from New Scotland Yard walked away in silence from Ransford’s house and kept the silence up until they were in the middle of the Close and accordingly in solitude. Then Mitchington turned to his companion.
“What d’ye think of that?” he asked, with a half laugh. “Different complexion it puts on things, eh?”
“I think just what I said before—in there,” replied the detective. “That man knows more than he’s told, even now!”
“Why hasn’t he spoken sooner, then?” demanded Mitchington. “He’s had two good chances—at the inquests.”
“From what I saw of him, just now,” said Jettison, “I should say he’s the sort of man who can keep his own counsel till he considers the right time has come for speaking. Not the sort of man who’ll care twopence whatever’s said about him, you un
