“That is my name,” the lawyer replied.
“I am Detective Barrant of Scotland Yard. I wish to speak to you privately.”
His emphasis on the last word was not lost on Charles Turold. With a slight indifferent nod to Mr. Brimsdown he went out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
“I have come to see you about this letter which you left with Inspector Dawfield.” Barrant produced the letter and took the single sheet from the grey envelope.
“That is the reason of my presence in Cornwall,” said Mr. Brimsdown.
“So I imagined. What can you tell me about it?”
“Very little, except that I received it by the last post at my chambers in Lincoln’s Inn Fields the night after Robert Turold’s death.”
“But why did he send for you?”
“That I cannot even guess.”
“You surely must have some idea.”