He was shown in at once to Inspector Furnival, who was writing at his office table, briskly making notes in a large parchment-bound book. He got up as the door opened.
Mr. Steadman shook hands. “You haven't forgotten me, I hope, inspector?”
The inspector permitted himself a slight smile. “I haven't forgotten how you helped me to catch John Bassil.”
“Um! Well, my cousin—Mrs. Bechcombe is my cousin, you know—has insisted on my coming to you this morning,” Mr. Steadman went on, taking the chair the inspector placed by the table. “This is a terrible business, inspector. It looks fairly plain sailing at first sight, but I don't know.”
The inspector glanced at him. “You think it looks like plain sailing, sir? Well, it may be, but I confess I don't see it quite in that way myself.”
Mr. Steadman met the detective's eyes with a curious look in his own. “What of Thompson's disappearance?”
The inspector blotted the page in his ledger at which he had been writing and left the blotting-paper on.
“Ay, as usual you have put your finger on the spot, Mr. Steadman. What has become of Thompson? He walked out of the office and apparently disappeared into space. For from that moment we have not been able to find anyone who has seen him.”
“The inference being——?” Mr. Steadman raised his eyebrows.
The inspector laid his hand on a parcel of papers lying on the table at his elbow.