“Because——” Inspector Furnival prompted.
“Oh, well, because I heard it strike afterwards, I suppose,” Walls answered lamely. “There are days when I don't notice it.”
“Um!” the inspector glanced at him. “Do you know the name of the last client who saw Mr. Bechcombe?”
“Pounds—Mr. Pounds, of Gosforth and Pounds, the big haberdashers. He came about the lease of some fresh premises they are taking. I happen to know that.”
“Ah, yes.” The inspector looked him full in the face. “But you don't happen to know why Mr. Anthony Collyer wanted to see his uncle, perhaps?”
The sweat broke out afresh on Mr. Walls's forehead.
“I don't know anything about it.”
“You know that Mr. Collyer came,” the inspector said with some asperity. “Why did you not mention it?”
Walls glanced at him doubtfully.
“There wasn't anything to mention. Mr. Anthony wanted to see Mr. Bechcombe, and he couldn't, so he went away. He talked to Mr. Thompson, not to me.”