"So somebody," said Reggie, "somebody put Herbert in a car, brought him down here, and chucked him in. Who was somebody? Geoffrey and the angel wife, eh, Lomas, old thing?"
"Somebody put in some fine work, what? He wouldn't have been found for weeks or for ever, but a barge came along and stirred him up. And they don't have a barge along here once a month."
"Yes, there's plenty brains about somewhere. Well, let's get busy. Herbert's happy home comes next."
The car again broke the law on the way back.
Herbert Charlecote had lived in a big block of flats several stories up.
"Did himself pretty expensively, don't you know," Lomas said, looking round the elaborate room.
"He's paid for all now, sir," said Superintendent Bell.
"Do you know, I don't feel sentimental about dear Herbert's doom," Reggie smiled. "You'd better get on to his papers. I want a man on the 'phone," and he went out and was gone some time.
When he came back he sat himself down in the window-seat and opened the big casements. There was a low stone sill which held a box of flowers. The smell of oak-leaf geranium and verbenas came into the room. "Rather oily scents, aren't they?" Reggie said. "I'm afraid he was rather oily, the late Herbert. How are you getting on?"
