Was the inspector's reply evasive? Used to weighing evidence, John Steadman decided that it was. He made no comment, however, but bent his brows over the paper once more.
“Of course the temporary help has been chatting with the regular staff at Hobart Residence,” the inspector pursued. “But there is little enough to be learned of Miss Hoyle there. Hobart Residence is a sort of hostel, you know, sir; all the inmates are supposed to be ladies in some sort of a job. They have a bedroom varying in price according to its position, and there is a general dining-room in which meals are served at a very reasonable price. Miss Hoyle usually took her breakfast and dinner there and was very seldom absent from either meal. She was looked upon as a very quiet, well-conducted girl, but she made no friends—and nothing was known of her private life. It was impossible to get at her home address there. Then I rang up Miss Watson, her old schoolmistress, but found that Cecily Hoyle's father had always paid her school bills in advance. He is an artist and has never given any settled address; sometimes he took his daughter away in the vacation. If he did not Miss Watson was asked to arrange a seaside or country holiday for her. Miss Watson only knew the Hobart Residence address.”
“Extraordinary! I should have thought Cecily Hoyle one of the last girls about whom there would be any mystery,” was the barrister's comment.
“Well, having drawn both those coverts blank, yesterday I made an exhaustive search of her room at Mr. Bechcombe's offices,” the inspector proceeded. “For a long time I thought I was going to have no better luck there. There were no letters; no private papers of any kind. Then just at the last I had a bit of luck. Right down at the bottom of the drawer in Miss Hoyle's desk I found a time-table. I ran through it, not expecting to discover anything there when I noticed that one leaf was turned down. It was a London and South Western Railway Guide, I may mention, and it was one of the ‘B’ pages that was turned down. I ran down it and saw in a minute that some one had been doing so with a lead pencil—there were several marks down the page—and one name, that of Burford in the New Forest, was underlined.”
“Burford, Burford!” John Steadman repeated reflectively. “Why, of course I have been there for golf. There are some very decent links. My friend, Captain Horbsham, rented a house in the neighbourhood, and I have been over the course with him.”
“Many burglaries down there?” the inspector said abruptly.
The barrister emitted a short laugh. “None that I ever heard of. Why, do you suspect Miss Hoyle——?”
“I don't suspect anybody,” the inspector returned. “It isn't my place to, you know, sir. But I am going down to Burford to-morrow morning. Do you feel inclined to come with me?”
“I don't mind if I do,” said the barrister cheerfully. “I can always do with a day in the country. We will drive down in the car, and I might take my clubs.”