“He will have to await developments. I see no other way, my dear.”
It was kindly said, but my head drooped. This waiting was what was killing him and killing me. The inspector saw and gently patted my hand.
“Come,” said he, “you have head enough to see that it is never wise to force matters.” Then, possibly with an intention of rousing me, he remarked: “There is another small fact which may interest you. It concerns the waiter, Wellgood, recommended, as you will remember, by this Sears. In my talk with Jones it leaked out as a matter of small moment, and so it was to him, that this Wellgood was the waiter who ran and picked up the diamond after it fell from Mr. Grey’s hand.”
“Ah!”
“This may mean nothing—it meant nothing to Jones—but I inform you of it because there is a question I want to put to you in this connection. You smile.”
“Did I?” I meekly answered. “I do not know why.”
This was not true. I had been waiting to see why the inspector had so honored me with all these disclosures, almost with his thoughts. Now I saw. He desired something in return.
“You were on the scene at this very moment,” he proceeded, after a brief contemplation of my face, “and you must have seen this man when he lifted the jewel and handed it back to Mr. Grey. Did you remark his features?”
“No, sir; I was too far off; besides, my eyes were on Mr. Grey.” “That is a pity. I was in hopes you could satisfy me on a very important point.”
“What point is that, Inspector Dalzell?”