The trim, natty figure, the spruce and Summer-like attire, the small, wizened face with its cynically humorous and wide-awake aspect--above all, a certain jauntiness of air and cocksure expression--certainly did not suggest a comedian fresh from the boards.
"You tell," he said, nodding to Theydon.
"This is Mr.Furneaux of Scotland Yard," said the latter nervously.

He imagined he could detect in Furneaux's glance a mixture of amusement and contempt, amusement at the notion that any amateur should harbor the belief that the two best men in the "Yard" could be egregiously hoodwinked, and contempt of one who so far forgot himself as even to dare attempt such a thing in relation to a police inquiry into a murder.
"I don't know, and care less, who Mr.Furneaux of Scotland Yard may be," went on Forbes hotly.

"I resent his intrusion, and wish to be relieved of his presence." "Why ?" said Furneaux.
"I have given my reasons to the Home Secretary.

That mere statement must suffice for you." "Really, I must ask you to be more explicit." "I visited the Home Office this morning, and placed such evidence in the hands of the Home Secretary that Scotland Yard will be requested to suspend all further investigation into the death of Mrs.Lester." "Do you mean that the Home Secretary has sanctioned the breaking off of this inquiry." "In the conditions--" "Because, if that is what your words imply, Mr.Forbes, I may tell you at once that I don't believe you.

It is more than any Home Secretary dare do, and if you harbor any lingering doubts on the point, go to Mr.
Theydon's telephone, ring up the Home Office, and tell the gentleman at the other end of the wire exactly what I have said.