"What's that?" asked Mr Philp.
"It's—it's a cuff," Captain Cai admitted.
"Belongs to the Widow Bosenna, I shouldn't wonder?" Mr Philp hazarded with massive gravity. "It's the sort o' thing a woman wears now-a-days when she've lost her husband. I follows the fashions in my distant way." He paused and corrected himself carefully—"Them sort."
"I thought—it occurred to me—as it might be the handiest way of returnin' the thing."
"It seems early days to be carryin' that sort of article around in the crown o' your hat. Dangerous, too, if you use hair-oil. But you don't. I took notice that you said 'no' yesterday when Toy offered to rub something into your hair. Now that's always a temptation with me, there bein' no extra charge. . . . Did she give it to you?"
"Who? . . . Mrs Bosenna? No, she left it behind here."
"When?"
"Yesterday evening."
"What was she doin' here, yesterday evenin', to want to take off her cuffs?"
"If you must know, she was planting roses."