“Do you know that I found this glove beside Mr. Bechcombe's writing-table when I went into the room?” questioned the inspector.
Spencer shivered.
“No. I didn't see it.”
“Nevertheless it was there,” said the inspector. “Mr. Spencer, I think you will have to try to remember why that lady's face was familiar to you. Had you ever seen her here before?”
“No, I don't think so. I seem to——” Spencer was beginning when there was an interruption, a loud knock at the door. Spencer turned to it eagerly. “Mr. Thompson has come back, I expect.”
The inspector was before him, but it was not Amos Thompson who stood outside, or any messenger from the offices; it was a tall, thin clergyman with a white, shocked face—the rector of Wexbridge to wit. He stepped aside.
“I must apologize for interrupting you, Mr. Inspector. But I represent my sister-in-law, Mrs. Luke Bechcombe. I had just called and was present when the sad news was broken to her. I came here to make inquiries and also to arrange for the removal of the body. And here I was met by these terrible tidings. Is it—can it be really true that my unfortunate brother-in-law has been murdered?”
“Quite true,” the inspector confirmed in a matter-of-fact fashion in contrast with the clergyman's agitated tone.
“But how and by whom?” Mr. Collyer demanded.
“Mr. Bechcombe appears to have been attacked, possibly chloroformed, deliberately, and strangled. His body was found in his private office.”