Читать книгу The Black онлайн

69 страница из 105

"How is this going to help you?" asked Hamon.

"It's going to help me a lot," said the inspector deliberately. "Morlake is fond of this man, and when he was ill, about two years ago, he used to go down every day in his car to Blackheath Road and bring him fruit and books, and had his own doctor attending him. Sometimes Binger comes home early, and the next night this happens we'll work the frame-up. Can you get anything of Morlake's—a handkerchief, a pocket-book——?"

Hamon shook his head.

"No," he said shortly. "I have never been into his house."

"That is unfortunate, but it isn't absolutely necessary. I'll have his initials engraved on a pocket-knife—it's easier to prove that you own an article than it is to prove you never owned it! It'll cost a bit—as I say, it's going to be a costly business."

Mr. Hamon took his note-case out, and passed across the table a sum considerably in excess of Marborne's wildest anticipations.

With this money in his pocket, and a corresponding sense of elation in his soul, the detective strolled out to join the waiting Slone. He had reason for gratification, since the plan, if successful, would not only make him a comparatively rich man (supposing Hamon kept his promise), but would wipe out the memory of a number of very ugly incidents that had disfigured his official career, and would inevitably qualify him for promotion if The Black were convicted.