II
I was sitting on the front step of Hardcastle’s house, and rose out of the gloom to greet him whenhe got home on the following evening.
“Hallo, Colin? Is that you? So you’ve appeared out of the blue again, have you?”
“If you called it out of the red, it would be much more appropriate.”
“How long have you been here, sitting on my front doorstep?”
“Oh, half an hour or so.”
“Sorry you couldn’t get into the house.”
“I could have got into the house with perfect ease,” I said indignantly. “You don’t know ourtraining!”
“Then why didn’t you get in?”
“I wouldn’t like to lower your prestige in any way,” I explained. “A detective inspector¹ ofpolice would be bound to lose face if his house were entered burglariously with complete ease.”
Hardcastle took his keys from his pocket and opened the front door.
“Come on in,” he said, “and don’t talk nonsense.”
He led the way into the sitting room, and proceeded to supply liquid refreshment².
“Say when.”
I said it, not too soon, and we settled ourselves with our drinks.
“Things are moving at last,” said Hardcastle. “We’ve identified our corpse³.”
“I know. I looked up the newspaper files—who was Harry⁴ Castleton?”
“A man of apparently⁵ the utmost respectability and who made his living by going through aform of marriage or merely getting engaged to well-to-do credulous⁶ women. They entrusted⁷ theirsavings to him, impressed by his superior knowledge of finance and shortly afterwards he quietlyfaded into the blue.”
“He didn’t look that kind of man,” I said, casting my mind back.
“That was his chief asset.”
“Wasn’t he ever

分享到：