“Good Lord, Teal-is this a stolen treaty business?” The detective nodded slowly. “That sounds a little sensational, but it’s about the truth of it. The draft of our commercial agreement with the Argentine is going before the House tomorrow, and Whipplethwaite brought it down here on Saturday night late to work on it-he has the pleasure of introducing it for the Government. I don’t know much about it myself, except that it’s to do with tariffs, and some people could make a lot of money out of knowing the text of it in advance.” “And it’s been stolen?” “On Sunday afternoon.” Simon reached thoughtfully for his cigarette-case. “Teal, why are you telling me this?” “I don’t really know,” said the detective, looking at him sombrely. “When you walked in and found me here, I suppose you thought I was the man.” “No-I didn’t think that. A thing like that is hardly in your line, is it?” “It isn’t. So why bring me in?” “I don’t really know,” repeated the detective stubbornly, watching his empty porridge plate being replaced by one of bacon and eggs.
