“Anthony, will you shut up or have I got to send you to bed? For goodness’ sake, help yourself to another drink and keep quiet.”
“You’ve seen Miss Cross too, Mr. Walton, I take it?” observed the inspector mildly.
“Yes, I have,” Anthony said shortly.
“A very pretty young lady,” commented the inspector with vague application.
“Oh, by the way!” Roger exclaimed suddenly. “I was very nearly forgetting the most important question of all.”
“And what’s that, Mr. Sheringham?”
“Why, to ask you what you’ve got up your sleeve in the way of clues. You admitted this afternoon there were some things you wouldn’t tell me.”
“One,” acknowledged the inspector with a smile. “That’s all. A coat-button.” He felt in his pocket and produced a light-blue bone button with a white pattern, about an inch and a half in diameter, which he held out on the flat of his palm. “This was found clenched in the dead woman’s hand.”
Roger whistled softly. “I say, that is a clue and no mistake! The first really definite one there’s been, except those footprints. May I have a look at it?” He took the button from the other’s outstretched hand and examined it intently. “It wasn’t one of her own, by any chance?”
“No, sir; it wasn’t.”