has them just where he wants them—if he wants them anywhere.”
“Where does he want them?”
“Oh, I mean, he has things all his own way. Apparently, he means never to come back. There’s not a thing in the place of value—that’s what I noticed especially—there’s not a personal thing that he could possibly care for—oh, of course, there are his pictures—but I can’t imagine any one caring greatly for those.”
“Mere sketches, they looked to me—and yet, I rather liked them. Good, soft coloring, and all that.”
“All alike, weren’t they?”
“Pretty much. Well, granting Locke is out of it, and his stuff there, as you say, of no value, then—don’t you see, the police are going to concentrate all their efforts on finding out something in Madeleine’s past life that will explain the murder.”
Barham sighed deeply. “Of course they are. Of course I see it. And that’s where you come in. What can we do to stop them?”
“I can’t think of anything. Your offer of money went nowhere.”
“Nowhere at all. I suppose we can’t build up a man of straw for them to hang their suspicions on.”
“And it isn’t that now, Drew. Just now, they’ve enough of that scandal about Madeleine to whet their appetites for more. They’re like a pack of vultures; they want to get a lot of back history”
“Oh, I say, Nick! That might apply to a newspaper, a yellow one—but not to the police!”
“Well, to these detectives. They’re so eager to get a feather to stick in their cap, that they’d go any lengths to dig up horrid old gossip to help along!”
“But, if the horrid old gossip chances to be the truth—
