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being liquidated. Its absence seemed, in a way, encouraging.
    They shook hands, and McCann lowered himself into the easy chair facing the desk.
    It was left to him to open the conversation.
    “I wanted,” he said, “to have a word with you about the case of Mademoiselle Lamartine.”
    “Yes,” said Hazlerigg. “I understood you to say so on the telephone.”
    It was not unfriendly, but to McCann, who knew Hazlerigg well, the tone of voice conveyed a warning.
    Nevertheless he persevered.
    “You remember young Rumbold – the solicitor you met in the Stalagmite Insurance Case – well, it’s his firm that has been instructed for the defence. They have to look through all the evidence as thoroughly as they can – on behalf of their client.”
    “I thought a firm called Chalibut and Spence was acting for Miss Lamartine.”
    “She changed her mind at the last moment,” explained McCann patiently. He was pretty certain that Hazlerigg knew this already, but if the inspector, for reasons of his own, wanted to take everything the long way round, McCann was quite willing to oblige him.
    “Have you any idea why she should do such a thing?”
    “I gather,” said McCann, “that she didn’t fancy the line they were taking.”
    “Which was—?”
    “Broadly speaking, guilty, under provocation, with a strong plea for the leniency of the court.”
    “And the new idea? That is, if you’ve no objection—”
    “The new idea,” said McCann slowly, “is that she didn’t do it at all.” It is possible that he surprised even himself. It certainly got through to Hazlerigg. The inspector deliberated for a moment, opened his mouth to answer and shut it again without saying a word, then climbed to his feet and went over to look out of the window, across the grimy buttresses of the Embankment, at the wind ruffling the waters of the Thames where a strong tide was making past Westminster Bridge.
    When at last he turned round, he seemed to have come to some sort of decision.
    “I think you must leave it alone,” he said.
    “If—”
    “I know, I know. It’s your duty as a citizen to assist justice. You said so. Every person is presumed innocent until they have been proved guilty. That’s an argument I recognise so far as young what’s – his – name is concerned. He’s a lawyer. He’s got to make out the best case he can for his client. That’s what he’s paid for. But you’re not a lawyer, you’re a publican and—” the irritation in his voice made Hazlerigg sound faintly human for the first time during the interview—“a damned pragmatical lowland Scot. Why, you’re doing this for the fun of it.”
    “Perhaps if you’d let me finish what I was going to say—” suggested McCann mildly.
    “Go on, then. It won’t do any good. Say it by all means.”
    “It was just this. If you have made a mistake over this case – you can put away your gun, I’m only saying ‘if’ – then it must be in the best interests of the people you serve to have the truth brought to light. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I don’t imagine that any police force enjoys its Oscar Slaters.”
    “Agreed,” said Hazlerigg shortly. There was an unusual anger somewhere down behind his grey eyes.
    “Well, then – on the other hand, if the girl is guilty – and that’s possible too, probable if you like – surely, even then, it’s to your advantage to have the thing properly contested. It’s only when the defence put up a proper fight that you can be sure of getting to the truth. However good the prosecution’s case is, unless it’s fought out you must be left with an uncomfortable feeling that the prisoner may be doing it out of bravado or lunacy, or a kink of some sort, or to shield a third party, or to get their name in the headlines, or—”
    “All right, all right,” said Hazlerigg. “I admit it all. I still ask you, personally, to keep out of it.”
    “Why?” said McCann bluntly.
    “That’s