"I don't understand you, Mr. Fortune. Are you here professionally?"
"For the Criminal Investigation Department."
"Really, though, really?" Dr. Newton was still short of breath. "And it was you wanted to see me? Anything I can do, of course?"
"You can tell me what was your little bet with Herbert Charlecote."
Dr. Newton lost some of his colour. "You bewilder me, Mr. Fortune. I am not a betting man. Pray explain yourself. And I must request you to take a different tone."
"Where is Herbert Charlecote?"
"Well, where is he?" Dr. Newton echoed. "I confess I don't understand the situation. I am told over the telephone that Mr. Charlecote wishes to see me, and"
"That gave you a bad quarter of an hour, didn't it? There's worse coming, Newton. Yesterday afternoon"—Reggie strolled round the table and put himself between Dr. Newton and the door—"yesterday afternoon you took Herbert Charlecote for a drive in your car. When you came to the Basingstoke Canal, a nice lonely place by the Basingstoke Canal, you clapped a chloroformed wad on his mouth, and when he was senseless you dropped him into the water and left him there to finish by drowning. It was a neat thing, Newton.
