Something in his tone seemed to cow the man, who opened the kitchen door and slunk inside.
The inspector beckoned to the man behind Steadman.
“Simmonds, tell Gordon to come inside, then send a S.O.S. message to headquarters.” Then he hobbled downstairs again. “This grows interesting, Mr. Steadman.”
The barrister looked at him.
“It seems pretty obvious to me that we have made a mistake. And I can't say that standing about in cold passages at this hour in the morning is exactly an amusement that appeals to me; especially after our experiences in the night.”
The inspector looked at him curiously.
“You think we have made a mistake in the house?”
The barrister raised his eyebrows.
“What else am I to think?”
For answer the inspector held out his hand, palm uppermost. It was apparently empty, but as Steadman, more short-sighted than ever without his monocle, stared down at it he saw that in it lay a tiny yellow fragment. For a moment the full significance of that bit of silk did not dawn on John Steadman, but when he looked up his face was very stern.