“You did not hear what he said when he went away? Your desk seems to be most inconveniently placed, Mr. Walls.”
“I heard him talking a lot of nonsense to Mr. Thompson.”
“Such as——” The inspector paused.
“Oh, well, he said he must see Mr. Bechcombe and he said he would, and Mr. Thompson——”
“Be careful!” warned the inspector. “Don't make any mistakes, Mr. Walls, I want to know what Mr. Anthony Collyer said.”
“He said—he said—if Mr. Thompson didn't let him in he would go round to Mr. Bechcombe's private door,” the man said, then hesitated. “But it—it was just nonsense.”
“Did he try to get into the room through the private door?”
“I don't know,” Walls said helplessly. “I didn't see him any more.”
The inspector drew a small parcel wrapped in tissue paper from his breast pocket and, opening it, displayed to the clerk's astonished eyes a long, white suède glove.
“Have you ever seen this before?”