James Cox looked up as Watters stepped into his office. “You can go,” he said to his secretary. “Don’t let anybody disturb us.”
“Yes, sir,” the secretary bowed, threw a sidelong look at Watters, and withdrew.
“Now, Sergeant,” Cox said. “Mr Mackay would not have sent you unless he had faith in your abilities. Have you discovered anything yet?”
Watters told Cox his theories.
Cox lifted a pen and wrote neat notes on a pad of foolscap paper. “You believe that Mr Stewart knew his murderer?”
“I think that’s a possibility, Mr Cox. I can’t think of any other reason he would open the gates to let somebody in at that time of night.”
“Could it have been a friend, perhaps, Sergeant? Some personal dispute?” Cox replaced the pen on its stand.
“I am not sure yet, sir. I have hardly begun my invest
