The inspector did not answer this. He drew his brows together.
“When did you see him last?”
“About half-past twelve, it would be. He went out of the office. I have not seen him since. But he did go out to lunch early sometimes. And he may have gone somewhere on business for Mr. Bechcombe.” Walls wiped the sweat from his brow as he spoke.
The inspector looked at him.
“I understand that Mr. Bechcombe was heard to tell him to be in readiness to go with him to the Bank at one o'clock?”
“I—I believe Spencer said something about that,” Walls stammered. “But I did not hear what Mr. Bechcombe said myself. My desk is farther away than Spencer's and I was busy with my work. All I heard was that Mr. Bechcombe was not to be disturbed on any account. He slightly raised his voice when he said that.”
“Did you gather that Mr. Bechcombe had business of an important nature with a mysterious client?”
“I didn't gather anything,” said Walls with some warmth. “It wasn't my business to. If Mr. Bechcombe did have an important client he must have admitted him himself by the private door. The last one that went to him in an ordinary way came out in a very few minutes.”
“Before twelve o'clock?” questioned the inspector sharply.
“Oh, yes. Some minutes before the clock struck—about a quarter to, I should say. I noticed that.”