"We lent it to Mr. Egerton, and—Hullo! where did you find this, Inspector? It is ours!" And he held it out for the other to see the blurred lines of the label stitched inside the mouth of the sack. The name of Stephen Byrne, The House by the River, W. 6, was still legible.
"Very curious, sir," said the man, looking hard at Stephen. "Do you remember when you lent it to Mr. Egerton?"
Stephen made a rapid calculation. The exact period was seventeen days.
He said, "When was it, Cook? About three weeks ago, wasn't it?"
"Couldn't say, sir, I'm sure. All I knows is it went one day, and the other day we asked for it back from Mr. Egerton when the man came about the bottles, and he said—Mr. Egerton said, that is—as he was sorry he'd lost it picking up wood, or so Mabel said, and it was Mabel as went round for it."
Stephen was feeling cooler and cooler. It was all amazingly easy.
He said, "That's right, Cook; I remember now. I gave it to Mr. Egerton myself one evening; he was going out to get wood." Then, with a tone of cheerful finality as one who puts an end to a tedious conversation with an inferior, "Well, I'm sure we're much obliged to you, Inspector, for bringing it back. Where—"
"If you don't mind, sir, I'd like to keep it a little longer. Those are my orders, sir—there's a little matter we're clearing up just now—"
"Just so. Certainly, Inspector. As long as you like."
"Thank you, sir. And as I take it, sir, none of your household has seen anything of this article since you lent it to Mr. Egerton?"