'The trouble with you, Rollison, is that you’re always a man with a mission. Nothing matters but getting results. You’d have made a good pirate – you’ve the buccaneering way with you. Yes, you were born three hundred years too late...And you’re always kicking against the discipline,’ said the doctor. He glowered up at Rollison, who had Mellor’s arm out of his coat and was rolling up a grubby shirt sleeve. The arm was limp and pink. ‘You always have. The police have never been quick enough or thorough enough for you – you’ve always had to get a step in front of them and show them the way. Or think you’re showing them the way. I doubt if they agree. Why not let the police know all about this young man and save yourself a lot of bother?’
‘It’s the buccaneer in me.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘I’ll be serious. Ninety-nine times in a hundred the police do a good job – a much more effective job than I could hope to do. But every now and again a peculiar case crops up. This is one. Apply rules and regulations to this, and you’ll be in danger of reaching what the world thinks is a right and proper verdict; in fact it would be a travesty. Give rules and regulations the go-by for a bit, and you’ll get justice.'
'Mellor is the illegitimate son of an extremely wealthy old man. The old man has been suffering from heart trouble for some years. Recently, in spite of strict obedience to doctor’s orders, he has become much worse. The doctors say they’re puzzled. I’m not. He’s worse because someone is working on him. I suspected jiggery-pokery shortly after he asked me to look for his son. There is quite a story behind this. He also had a legitimate son, Geoffrey, a year younger than Mellor. The younger son was burned to death, supposedly by accident, nearly a year ago. The fire was in a summer-house, where Geoffrey slept in warm weather. He would have inherited the bulk of a substantial fortune. After his death conscience set to work in the old man, who decided that if he could find his first son, he would do right by him. As they say.’ Rollison’s expression didn’t change, and he looked at the doctor through the haze of steam rising from the coffee. '‘That’s the story as I know it.’‘