Superintendent Fenning listened with politeness but no great enthusiasm to French’s new idea.
‘Yes,’ he said when he had heard it to the end, ‘I agree that if someone had used the window, that would explain a good deal. Who have you in mind? Norne?’
‘Norne admits he left the others for ten or twelve minutes about half-past ten. Ricardo and Osenden may also have left the room. If so, any one of them could have carried out any trick, unknown to the other two.’
Fenning nodded expectantly.
‘Suppose,’ continued French, ‘Norne threw out a rope ladder when he was up at ten. Or if you like, suppose Ricardo or Osenden found out that Minter was to have that room and threw out a rope ladder before ever Minter arrived. Couldn’t whoever did that have climbed up, killed Minter, climbed down again, and gone back into the library, without anyone being a bit the wiser?’
‘And conveniently closed the window from the inside and removed the ladder from the ground.’
‘H’m,’ said French, ‘that’s a nasty one. My point is simply this: Minter was probably murdered about ten. If Norne didn’t do it during his known visit and if Jeffries’ statement is true, entrance through the window is the only possibility left.’
Fenning saw that French was keen on his idea and evidently wished to humour him, for he said: ‘Let’s go up and have another look at the room.’
This was what French had really wanted and he agreed with alacrity. Fenning rang for his car, and a few minutes later the two men reached Severno.
Norne had not required the room Minter had occupied, and as the adjourned inquest had not yet been held, Fenning had kept the door sealed. He now broke the seals and they entered. French crossed the room to the window.
It was an ordinary four-sectioned window with lead lights and steel frames. Three vertical wooden bars divided it into the four sections. The whole of the two end sections opened outwards on side hinges, the hinges being at the extreme sides of the windows. The bottom portions of the two centre sections were fixed, but their upper two-fifths opened outwards, the hinges being along the tops. The wooden bars and surrounding casing were painted cream and the steel frames black.
‘Now, let’s see,’ said French when he had assimilated these facts, ‘you found the two side windows shut and latched, and the upper quadrants of the centre ones partly open?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘Well, see, super. Suppose a man set a ladder up against the sill, he could put his arm in through one of the centre upper quadrants and reach down and unlatch the adjoining side window.’
‘Those latches should always be put to the side of the frame away from the quadrant for that very reason.’
‘Yes, but they very seldom are. They weren’t here, at all events. Do you agree with that, super?’
‘That a man standing on the sill could stretch in through the quadrant and open a side window? Yes, I suppose he could.’
‘And if he could open a side window, he could enter by it?’
‘Naturally.’
‘And again, if he left the room by a side window, he could close it and latch it while standing on the sill?’
‘Agreed.’
French slowly rubbed his hands. ‘Well, you know,’ he declared, ‘I believe that’s what was done.’
For a moment the super did not reply. Then he shook himself slightly. ‘I’m blessed but it sounds likely enough,’ he admitted. ‘And, of course, if Norne had given Minter the dope at ten o’clock, Minter would have been asleep by half-past.’
French agreed as he moved close up to the window and looked down. ‘A wooden ladder would have done the trick,’ he went on. ‘The gravel path down there is hard; the butts wouldn’t show.’ Really, this idea looked more and more likely the longer he thought over it.
Fenning was looking more impressed. ‘As a matter of routine we tested the window hasps for prints,’ he said, ‘and there were none on any of them. It seemed not unreasonable, for the maid said they hadn’t been touched for some time. But in the face of what you’ve been saying, we ought to know how much time.’
French nodded quickly. ‘That’s it, super,’ he approved.
‘We’ll have her up now.’ Fenning crossed the room and pressed the bell. Presently Jeffries entered.
‘Send up Alice, will you, please.’
The maid was sure of her facts. The side windows had been opened and closed on the Thursday preceding Minter’s death, when the room had had its usual turn out. The quadrants had been left open on that occasion and since then neither had been touched.
‘Thursday to Sunday,’ the super said when she had gone. ‘Prints should have remained for that time, surely?’
‘Was there anything else handled on that Thursday and not again till Sunday?’ French asked. ‘Get that girl back.’
Alice was not able to answer this question so readily. In fact, it took a deal of prompting before she thought of anything. At last, however, she said that on that same Thursday she had opened and closed the door of a built-in cupboard near the bed. This, she believed, had not been opened since.
‘That’s right,’ Fenning agreed. ‘I remember this girl’s prints were on the door handle. And if so, chief-inspector, it looks as if you were right about the window.’
‘I wish, Alice,’ said French suddenly, ‘you’d take us to another room with a window like this.’
‘Next door?’
‘The very thing.’
They went in next door and French resumed: ‘Now, I want you to open that window just as you did the other one on that Thursday, and then close it again. Wait; let me clean the handles.’
When she had done so, French let her go. Then he got some powder from his emergency case in the car and dusted the handles. Clear prints came out.
The super nodded several times. ‘That about fixes it, chief,’ he declared with something approaching awe in his manner. ‘You’re on to a bull’s eye this time. The absence of prints in the next room proves that somebody cleaned the handles.’
‘It looks like a true bill right enough,’ French agreed. Though this was not really his case and he kept on reminding himself of the fact, he was as nearly excited as his dignity would allow. ‘I think we may take it someone has used a ladder, and that could only be for the one thing.’
Fenning agreed. ‘And the man that used the ladder,’ he concluded, ‘is the man we want for the murder.’
As they spoke they had been walking slowly back to the room Minter had occupied. French crossed once again to the window.
‘Let’s have another squint at this window,’ he suggested. ‘If a ladder was used, it would have rested against the sill. With luck we might find dents, or perhaps a scratch from a shoe.’
They settled down to it, scrutinising every inch of the window, inside and out, as well as the floor adjoining.
For a time neither spoke, each being fully occupied. Then French gave a little exclamation. ‘Look here, super,’ he went on. ‘What do you make of those?’
They were two slight scrapes on the centre mullion, the vertical wooden division between the two middle sections of the window. It was as if a stiff brush had been passed horizontally round the two inner corners of the bar at the level of the bottom of the quadrant openings. That on the left was more pronounced, and examination with a lens showed faint marks across the flat of the bar, connecting those at the corners.
For a few moments Fenning looked at the marks in a puzzled way. Then his expression changed and he gave vent to a mild oath. ‘Got it again, chief,’ he cried. ‘There can’t be much doubt about that.’
‘No,’ French agreed, trying to hide his excitement. ‘We may take it that’s the murderer’s visiting card which he left after his call on Minter. A pity we can’t read his name.’
‘We’ll get him,’ Fenning returned with more enthusiasm than he had yet shown. ‘This opens a completely new line.’
‘I hope so,’ said French more soberly. ‘Let’s put it into words, super. Sometimes doing that shows you a snag you’ve missed in your mind. Here, I take it, we have a mark made by drawing a rope round the mullion. It suggests to me that the murderer made his getaway by means of a rope which he brought in through one of the quadrant windows and out through the other, both ends hanging down to the ground. The height of the scratch suggests that the rope was resting on the top bars of the lower fixed panes in those centre sections. You agree?’
Fenning nodded. ‘I agree. And the deeper mark on the left shows that when he had got down he pulled the rope out through the left window.’
‘Quite; the deeper mark was on the last corner it passed round.’
‘That seems all O.K.’ Fenning thought for a while, then went on with more hesitation; ‘But, look here, how do you think he got in?’
‘Why not up the rope?’
‘Oh, yes, that’s right enough—provided the rope was there. But how did he get it there?’
‘Well, so far as I can see, if he didn’t use a wooden ladder, he could only have put it there from the inside. But if he had a wooden ladder, he wouldn’t have wanted the rope. Therefore, he had no wooden ladder. Therefore, he fixed the rope from the inside of the house—after the curtains were drawn. Therefore, does it not follow that he was Norne or one of the visitors?’
Fenning somewhat doubtfully thought that that was so. Then they rang once again for the long-suffering Alice to ask when the curtains had been pulled, and learned that it was about half past six.
After a good deal of further discussion they agreed that their discovery proved the following facts:
1. That Minter had not been murdered by Norne when he went up to see him about ten.
2. That he had been murdered by some person or persons unknown shortly after that visit of Norne’s.
3. That the unknown escaped to the ground by means of a rope.
4. That when he had climbed down he pulled it after him and removed the rope.
5. That in order to get the rope in position, he or an accomplice had placed it from inside the room.
6. That this had either been done by an unknown between 6.30, when the curtains were pulled, and Minter’s arrival at 9.15, or by Norne when he went up to see Minter at 10.
7. That Norne (or Osenden or Ricardo, if either of these had left the room) might have climbed the rope and committed the murder at 10.30, though this was unlikely owing to their age.
Before leaving Severno French rang up the Yard, where for once he had left Carter, instructing that worthy to get in touch with Osenden and Ricardo and ask whether they had remained in the library while Norne was getting his print. Then he and Fenning inquired into the question of who could have known the room Minter was to occupy, satisfying themselves that unless Osenden or Ricardo had asked Norne—which was unlikely—neither could possibly have done so.
Considerably puzzled, the officers drove back to headquarters. There French found waiting for him a message from the Yard. The Ely police reported that while Ricardo lived well at Garth House, he was known to be very hard up. Inquiries had shown that he was trying to raise money on his estate and finding it extremely difficult, for the simple reason that it was already mortgaged to nearly its full value. The police informant had said that he wouldn’t be surprised at any time to see the place in the market.
This information at once opened a new vista for speculation. If Ricardo was so hard up as all this, could he have committed the theft? Could he have committed both theft and murder? Could his affair with Mrs Minter have only been a strengthening of a motive already in existence? French put the point to Fenning and they discussed it for some time. Finally French summed up their conclusions.
‘It comes to this, then, super. The evidence of the rope shows that Minter was murdered by someone inside the house. Now, that someone was unlikely to have been a servant.’
‘Agreed. In my judgment not one of them could be guilty.’
‘That leaves Norne, Osenden and Ricardo. Now, Norne’s unlikely for the same reason as we thought it unlikely that he had committed the murder at ten o’clock: that he allowed it to be known that he was alone there with Minter. You remember we agreed that if he had been intending to commit the murder at ten, he would have gone to the room secretly. That argument applies equally to a visit at ten-thirty.’
‘Agreed again.’
‘Osenden is to my mind the very last type of man who would commit murder and robbery. Besides our report from the Ryde police pictures him as altogether unlikely. That leaves Ricardo.’
‘Agreed again.’
‘Ricardo was running after Minter’s wife and probably wanted Minter out of the way. And now we learn he was hard up and probably going to have to sell his family place. This business of which he was a director was about to crash, so that would be the last straw that would tip Ricardo into the soup—so to speak.’
‘A good phrase, chief,’ Fenning said with unction. ‘I congratulate you.’
‘Well, here’s financial ruin and the loss of Mrs Minter on the one hand, and on the other a fortune and the possibility of an honourable marriage on the other—so to speak again. Yes, super, there’s no doubt about motive.’
‘And opportunity.’
‘We’ve already discussed that. Ricardo somehow finds out which is Minter’s room, and while supposed to be dressing for dinner, he slips in and fixes his rope. When Norne leaves the room to get his print, let’s assume Ricardo does so also. Why should he not have gone out of the front door and round to Minter’s window?’
‘It’s a question of time.’
‘Then let’s estimate. It would take him, say, a minute to shut the door and run round to the window.’
‘One minute.’
‘Say three or four minutes to climb up the rope, open the window, and get into the room.’
‘Say five minutes altogether.’
‘Five minutes to smother Minter.’
‘Ten minutes.’
‘A minute to get the keys and take an impression.’
‘Eleven minutes.’
‘Three minutes to get down to the ground, pull down the rope and hide it in some prearranged place near by.’
‘Fourteen minutes.’
‘A minute to get back to the door and let himself in.’
‘Say fifteen minutes altogether. It seems tight.’
‘It might have taken him less than fifteen minutes. Minter in his poor state of health might have died in less than five. Ricardo could have slid down the rope in a matter of seconds. Besides, Norne said ten or twelve minutes. It might have been fifteen.’
‘I suppose,’ Fenning admitted, ‘it would have been just possible.’
‘If that didn’t happen, something equally unlikely must have.’
Fenning moved as if reaching a conclusion. ‘Well, I’ll tell you how it would look to me,’ he declared. ‘You think his fundamental motive would have been to get the key?’
‘An impression of it. It seems to me that if he couldn’t get money, he couldn’t get Mrs Minter either.’
‘You’re assuming also that he had already got Norne’s key?’
‘We must assume that, whoever was guilty.’
‘Very well. Then his guilt or innocence of the murder would seem to me to hinge on whether he robbed the safe or whether he didn’t.’
This led to a further argument, but at length it was decided that French should go into the possibilities of Ricardo being guilty of the robbery. According to the results of that inquiry would depend their future conduct of the case.
When French reached the Yard he found that one, at least, of the difficulties he had anticipated was nonexistent. Carter had rung up Osenden at his home near Ryde and put his question. On Norne’s leaving the room to get his print, Osenden had also gone out for a few minutes, leaving Ricardo alone. When he returned, Ricardo was not there, though he came in just before Norne.
So far, so good! There had then been an opportunity for the murder. Now for the question of the theft.
After dinner that night French filled his pipe and sat down to consider his programme for the next day.
The period of Ricardo’s time which he had to investigate was from about four o’clock on Sunday afternoon, when the man was set down by Sloley at Piccadilly Circus, and ten next morning, when the robbery was discovered.
For some time he considered whether Ricardo might not have had an accomplice who would have done the actual robbing of the safe. Then he saw that, whether or not, Ricardo would have been present at its opening. What was the universal feeling between conspirators? Distrust! Ricardo would never have allowed his partner in crime a free hand to take what he liked from the safe.
How, then, were the man’s actions during the critical period to be ascertained? French could only think of one way. He must ask him the question. It would, of course, have the drawback of putting him on his guard, but that couldn’t be helped.
French uneasily looked at his watch. It was but little past nine. Then with a sigh he went to the telephone and rang up The Counties, Ricardo’s club. Was Mr Ricardo in the building, and if so could he see Mr French, if the latter were to call?
Ricardo, it appeared, was there, and would expect Mr French. French, thereupon, called up Carter, and half an hour later the two men were shown into a visitors’ room, where presently Ricardo joined them.
‘Good evening, chief-inspector. I hope there’s nothing wrong?’
‘Nothing fresh, sir. I’m still on my search for information. I must apologise for coming at such a time, but I thought I would probably annoy you less now than if I called in the day time.’
Ricardo threw himself into an armchair. ‘Sit down and go ahead,’ he invited.
‘We have got, sir, to the stage in our investigation at which we ask everyone connected with the company to account for his or her time during the period between the death of Mr Minter and the discovery of the theft. This is routine, but we’re bound to state that no one need answer the questions and that anything said may be used in evidence. I’m sorry to be a nuisance, sir, but I’ve come to ask if you will give this information, of course, under the official warning.’
‘Suppose I take advantage of your offer, and refuse to speak?’
‘That is open to you, though it has objections. I’m not threatening, of course, but if you refuse to answer we naturally assume you have something to hide, and we then set to work to find it out in other ways; or if that proves impossible, we can take you to court and there you would have to answer.’
French had been unobtrusively watching the man’s reaction to all this. Ricardo’s manner had changed. Instead of his easy off-hand bearing, he was now looking anxious and wary. For a moment he made no reply, then he shrugged. ‘You’re not threatening, of course. Very well: what do you want to know?’
‘You have had the official warning and speak of your own free will?’ French went on imperturbably.
Ricardo laughed scornfully. ‘Well, what do you think?’ he retorted. ‘Never mind; I’ve heard you. Go ahead.’
‘It’s a simple matter, sir. One question, I think, will cover all I want to know. You’ve already told me how you spent your time on that Sunday of Mr Minter’s death up till about four o’clock, when you were set down by Mr Sloley at Piccadilly Circus. Will you please tell me how you spent your time from that hour until, say, ten o’clock next morning?’
Ricardo continued to look worried. For some moments he sat silent, and when he did speak, it was not to answer, but to grumble about the question.
‘I don’t see what business of yours this is,’ he countered. ‘Do you accuse me of stealing the blessed jewels? If so, you shouldn’t ask such a question. If you don’t, what does it matter?’
‘I certainly don’t accuse you of anything,’ French returned, hiding as best he could his irritation. How well he knew that gambit! Sometimes it indicated merely a fool with a swelled head, but usually it was to gain time to think out a plausible statement. He answered Ricardo’s objections with patience and politeness, and at last the man gave way.
‘I haven’t the slightest objection to telling you where I was and what I was doing,’ he declared testily, ‘but no one likes being jumped into things and made a fool of. Four o’clock, Piccadilly Circus. What I did was this, if you must know. I came straight from Piccadilly here and had tea. Then—’
‘Just a moment, sir. You drove through this street on your way to Piccadilly Circus, if I’ve understood you correctly, and set Sir Ralph Osenden down at his club, which is nearly next door. Why did you not get out here?’
‘Well, I think you might guess that. I wanted to be alone. Osenden’s a good fellow, and we’re quite friends, but I was fed up with the whole party. If I’d got out here, Osenden would have suggested my having tea with him.’
‘You told Mr Sloley you wanted to go somewhere by tube?’
‘Yes, I had to explain my destination. It was with the same object.’
‘Very good, sir. Please go on.’
‘I got here, as I say, and had tea. Then I went up to my room, took up a book, and lay down on the bed, hoping I’d get a bit of a sleep. I was deadly tired, if you understand, but restless also. It was that confounded morning at Norne’s.’
‘I can well understand it, sir.’
‘Oh, you can, can you? Well, I stayed there till about half-past six. Then I could stand it no longer. I went out for a walk through the streets. Presently I felt I wanted some food. I couldn’t face the heavy club dinner: I wanted something light. I went into the Corner House in Coventry Street and had some coffee and an omelette. Then between eight and nine I came out and was once more at a loose end. For a time I strolled about, and in the end I did what I seldom do, I went to see the show at the Tivoli. I stuck it for a couple of hours, then walked back to the club. I got here about half-past ten and went to bed. Shortly afterwards,’ he concluded with elaborate sarcasm, ‘I became drowsy and presently fell asleep. I slept well and awoke on the following morning, when I got up, dressed, had my breakfast, and went to the office. Does that content you?’
‘Yes, sir, I think that about covers the ground. Had you a good film at the Tivoli?’
‘I don’t know. I arrived after the thing had started, and I never got the hang of what it was all about. As a matter of fact, I didn’t try. I couldn’t get Minter and the smash of our business out of my head, and all those fools plunging about on the screen seemed a sort of anti-climax. I don’t know if you can well understand that?’
‘I think I can, sir,’ said French innocently. ‘You walked to and from the club?’
‘I said so.’
French rose. ‘Well, sir, I’m much obliged to you. I think that’s all I require. I may wish you goodnight.’
‘You may,’ retorted Ricardo, ‘and if you don’t believe what I say, you may ask the club servants.’
French paused. ‘You mean that, sir?’
‘Of course I mean it. And what matter whether I mean it or not? Won’t you do it in any case?’
‘I shall, sir. It’s my routine duty. But I’d much rather do it with your will than against it. May I send for your bedroom attendant now? Or perhaps you would?’
With a bad grace Ricardo rang the bell and told the page to ask Henderson to come down.
‘Perhaps, sir, if you’d tell him that we’re trying to get times checked up in conection with a street accident you saw, and then allow me to ask the questions, it would be easier.’
‘Tactful, what? Very well, I’ll do so.’
Presently a highly respectable gentleman’s gentleman entered, and stood just inside the door, respectfully curious.
‘Oh, Henderson,’ said Ricardo, ‘this is a chief-inspector of police. He’s been asking me about an accident I saw last Sunday week, and we want to get some times checked up. Can you help me at all? You’d better ask him, chief-inspector.’
‘Mr Ricardo isn’t certain of the time he saw the thing,’ French explained, ‘and we are trying to estimate it. We want the time he left the club and arrived back, if you can help us with either. That’s right, isn’t it, sir?’
‘That’s right,’ Ricardo agreed.
Whether Henderson took this at its face value or suspected something very different could not be learnt from his eminently correct demeanour. He thought he could oblige. Mr Ricardo had left his bedroom at just half-past six, after spending a couple of hours therein. He had returned about half-past ten. His, Henderson’s, box was beside the lift, and he made a point of seeing the gentlemen coming in and going out.
Thorough always, French next saw the porter. He happened to have seen Ricardo leave and return and he was able to confirm the statements already made. He also certified that Ricardo could not possibly have left the club during the night.
The critical period was now all accounted for except the four hours from 6.30 to 10.30. But during this time French saw that Ricardo could very well have cut the key and opened the safe. How was he to check those four hours?
He felt there was little use in making inquiries at either the Corner House or the Tivoli, though he dare not omit to do it. If Ricardo had wanted to find the two places in which his presence would be least likely to be noted, he could scarcely have chosen better. And so it proved. As French had expected, several hours’ work at each place drew blank.
French was a good deal worried. It wasn’t going to be easy to check the matter up, and yet somehow it must be done.
There seemed to be just one possible line of inquiry. If Ricardo had cut the key and burgled the safe, he would not have had any too much time to do it in. If so, he would scarcely have walked to wherever he was going. There was no tube station near the middle of Pall Mall. What would he have done?
He had stated he had walked to and from the building, and this the porter had confirmed. But that would be a natural precaution. As soon as he was a few yards down the street, would he not take a taxi? French thought so. He, therefore, circularised all taxi drivers on the matter.
For some time there was no reply, and he began to fear that his clue was also petering out. Then, to his surprise and delight, a man called with some information.
He had, he said, been passing through Pall Mall on the day and at the time mentioned. When about halfway down the street he was hailed by an elderly man of the given description. And on being handed a sheaf of photographs, the taximan obligingly picked out Ricardo’s.
‘Where did you drive him to?’ French asked eagerly.
‘An ’ouse in Rennington Street, Maida Vale. I don’t remember the number.’
573 Rennington Street! French felt he ought to have thought of it. That would be his obvious retreat if he wanted to cut the key in secret. ‘Mr Parkinson’ could use his own rooms for what purpose he chose, and there would be nothing to connect his action with Mr Anthony Ricardo of Ely.
‘You might drive there again,’ said French, calling Carter and jumping into the vehicle. Instead of starting, however, the man climbed laboriously out of his seat and came to the door.
‘Come to think of it,’ he said, ‘I didn’t go direct that night. I called at a restaurant in Piccadilly. The gentleman ’e went in, and then ’e came back with a boy carrying some parcels. They put ’em in and ’e got in and told me to go ahead to Rennington Street.’
‘Go to the restaurant,’ said French.
It proved to be a place in which, in addition to serving meals, cold lunches and suppers were provided ready cooked and packed so that they could be taken away and eaten elsewhere. French produced his photograph, but no one could remember Ricardo’s call. However, this was not very surprising, as the place was large and, so the manager assured French, very busy at that hour on Sunday evenings.
In Rennington Street they pulled up, as French had expected, at No. 573. French dismissed the taxi and he and Carter rang.
‘Good evening, Mrs Mickleham,’ he greeted the diminutive landlady. ‘Can I have another word with you?’
With somewhat less suspicion than on the first occasion, she admitted him and replied to his questions. As he listened to her the misgivings French had been feeling deepened to a sense of profound disappointment. There was no longer any question as to what had occurred.
On that Sunday evening ‘Mr Parkinson’ had arrived shortly before seven and had carried up several parcels to his rooms. Not five minutes later ‘Mrs Parkinson’ had come. They had remained upstairs until about ten, when they had left together. Afterwards Mrs Mickleham had cleared away the remains of a very dainty supper.
French thought bitterly that he ought to have foreseen this development. It fully explained Ricardo’s manner and false statements. Not knowing that French was aware of his secret, he would naturally try to keep Mrs Minter’s name out of things. Indeed, considering the time he had had to invent his story, French thought grimly that he hadn’t done badly.
But it was when he began to consider the bearing of the discovery on the case as a whole, that French grew really despondent. He didn’t wish evil to Ricardo, but he had to find the thief. If he failed, it would count rather seriously against him. His credit and reputation, and, in the last resort, his bread and butter were at stake. He must find not only the guilty man but the stolen jewels. There had been a nasty hitch in the early part of that Southampton Water case, and he couldn’t risk another hold-up.
That night he settled down to go once again over all the facts that he had so far learned, in the hope that by a miracle he had overlooked some point which might give him a fresh start. For three solid hours he worried over his notes, sifting, comparing, weighing, trying to find some further deduction; but all to no purpose. His usual bedtime came and went, but he threw some more logs on the fire and continued working. And then at last he remembered one point which he had considered previously, but which he had dismissed as unimportant.
It was a tiny discrepancy between the evidence of Mrs Turbot, the office charwoman, and that of Sloley and Sheen. Mrs Turbot had stated that Minter had arrived at the office first, by himself, and that Sloley and Sheen had come a few minutes later and together. Sloley and Sheen on the other hand had said that they had arrived together to find the office empty, and that Minter had presently joined them.
At the time French had dismissed the discrepancy, supposing that Mrs Turbot had made a mistake. But now he was in such a state of anxiety over the case, that he determined that even so slight an element of doubt must be set at rest. Next morning, he decided, he would see Mrs Turbot again and try to get the point cleared up.
His plans for the immediate future settled, French suddenly felt sleepy. Glancing at the clock and finding that it was twenty minutes past two, he muttered an annoyed oath and went up to bed.