of obsolete build, entered. He possessed a black mustache, a breezy,
bustling manner, and humorous blue eyes; furthermore, when he took
off his hat, he revealed the possession of a head of very bristly,
upstanding, black hair. This was Detective-Sergeant Sowerby, and the
same who was engaged in examining a newspaper in the study of Henry
Leroux when Dr. Cumberly and his daughter had paid their second visit to
that scene of an unhappy soul's dismissal.
“Well?” said Dunbar, glancing up at his subordinate, inquiringly.
“I have done all the cab depots,” reported Sergeant Sowerby, “and a good
many of the private owners; but so far the man seen by Mr. Exel has not
turned up.”
“The word will be passed round now, though,” said Dunbar, “and we shall
probably have him here during the day.”
“I hope so,” said the other good-humoredly, seating himself upon one of
the two chairs ranged beside the wall. “If he doesn't show up.”...
“Well?” jerked Dunbar--“if he doesn't?”
“It will look very black against Leroux.”
Dunbar drummed upon the blotting-pad with the fingers of his left hand.
“It beats anything of the kind that has ever come my way,” he confessed.
“You get pretty cautious at weighing people up, in this business; but I
certainly don't think--mind you, I go no further--but I certainly
don't think Mr. Henry Leroux would willingly kill a fly; yet there is
circumstantial evidence enough to hang him.”
Sergeant Sowerby nodded, gazing speculatively at the floor.
“I wonder,” he said, slowly, “why the girl--Miss Cumberly--hesitated
about telling us the woman's name?”
“I am not wondering about that at all,” replied Dunbar, bluntly. “She
must meet thousands in the same way. The wonder to me is that she
remembered at all. I am open to bet half-a-crown that YOU couldn't
remember the name of every woman you happened to have pointed out to you
at an Arts Ball?”
“Maybe not,” agreed Sowerby; “she's a smart girl, I'll allow. I see you
have last night's papers there?”
“I have,” replied Dunbar; “and I'm wondering”...
“If there's any connection?”
“Well,” continued the inspector, “it looks on the face of it as though
the news of her husband's death had something to do with Mrs. Vernon's
presence at Leroux's flat. It's not a natural thing for a woman, on the
evening of her husband's death, to rush straight away to another man's
place”...
“It's strange we couldn't find her clothes”...
“It's not strange at all! You're simply obsessed with the idea that this
was a love intrigue! Think, man! the most abandoned woman wouldn't run
to keep an appointment with a lover at a time like that! And remember
she had the news in her pocket! She came to that flat dressed--or
undressed--just as we found her; I'm sure of it. And a point like that
sometimes means the difference between hanging and acquittal.”
Sergeant Sowerby digested these words, composing his jovial countenance
in an expression of unnatural profundity. Then:--
“THE point to my mind,” he said, “is the one raised by Mr. Hilton. By
gum! didn't Dr. Cumberly tell him off!”
“Dr. Cumberly,” replied Dunbar, “is entitled to his opinion, that the
injection in the woman's shoulder was at least eight hours old; whilst
Mr. Hilton is equally entitled to maintain that it was less than ONE
hour old. Neither of them can hope to prove his case.”
“If either of them could?”...
“It might make a difference to the evidence--but I'm not sure.”
“What time is your appointment?”
“Ten o'clock,” replied Dunbar. “I am meeting Mr. Debnam--the late Mr.
Vernon's solicitor. There is something in it. Damme! I am sure of it!”
“Something in what?”
“The fact that Mr. Vernon died yesterday evening, and that his wife was
murdered at midnight.”
“What have you told the press?”
“As little as possible, but you will see that the early editions will
all be screaming for the arrest of Soames.”
“I shouldn't wonder. He would be a useful man to have; but he's probably
out of London now.”
“I think not. He's more likely to wait for instructions from his
principal.”
“His principal?”
“Certainly. You don't think Soames did the murder, do you?”
“No; but he's obviously an accessory.”
“I'm not so sure even of that.”
“Then why did he bolt?”
“Because he had a guilty conscience.”
“Yes,” agreed Sowerby; “it does turn out that way sometimes. At any
rate, Stringer is after him, but he's got next to nothing to go upon.
Has any reply been received from Mrs. Leroux in Paris?”
“No,” answered Dunbar, frowning thoughtfully. “Her husband's wire would
reach her first thing this morning; I am expecting to hear of a reply at
any moment.”
“They're a funny couple, altogether,” said Sowerby. “I can't imagine
myself standing for Mrs. Sowerby spending her week-ends in Paris. Asking
for trouble, I call it!”
“It does seem a daft arrangement,” agreed Dunbar; “but then, as you say,
they're a funny couple.”
“I never saw such a bundle of nerves in all my life!”...
“Leroux?”
Sowerby nodded.
“I suppose,” he said, “it's the artistic temperament! If Mrs. Leroux
has got it, too,