Aubrey shook his head.
“Hopkins doesn't know. You see he had no particular reason to notice anything about the man. He would not have done so at all but for the hands, I think.”
“You said just now that Hopkins recognized him from the description when he saw it,” Mr. Steadman pursued. “I must say I thought it delightfully vague. A study in negatives, I should call it.”
“It wasn't very definite, of course. And Hopkins may have been entirely mistaken. But he said he particularly noticed the short brown beard and the defective teeth.”
“Um!” Mr. Steadman stuck his hands in his pockets. “I am inclined to think Hopkins' identification a flight of the imagination. The police-station description tells what Thompson was like when he left here. I should look out for a clean-shaven man with regular teeth now.”
Todmarsh did not look pleased.
“I suppose I am particularly stupid, but I really fail to understand why the police should circulate a description when they want something entirely opposite.”
“My dear man, you don't imagine that a man who could hide his traces as Thompson did would be foolish enough to leave his personal appearance unprovided for? No. We must have every cargo boat that left the docks overhauled at its first stopping-place, but I don't fancy we shall find Thompson on any of them.”
“Well, he has managed to get away somehow, and I thought you might be glad to hear of something that is a possible clue,” Todmarsh said sulkily.
At this moment the telephone bell, Mr. Luke Bechcombe's own telephone bell, rang sharply. Todmarsh stopped and started violently, staring at the telephone as if he expected to see his uncle answer it.