Barker flushed under his tan.
“I gave Prescott an I.O.U. for the amount,” he said very quietly.
I felt rather than saw Anthony straighten himself in his chair. And I was relieved to think that Barker, having furnished the information regarding the I.O.U. himself, I should be saved the unpleasant business of telling Anthony as I had intended. Baddeley’s voice cut into my thoughts. It rang with expectancy.
“Now then, Lieutenant, you gave that I.O.U. to Prescott?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do with it? Do you know? Can you remember?”
I am certain that Barker hesitated ever so slightly over his reply, and I caught myself wondering if one of those machines they use in France for measuring heart-beats or something—or the time a suspected person takes to answer pregnant questions—would have registered and recorded this almost imperceptible hesitation. The answer came, however, and perhaps not quite what I anticipated.
“Yes! He put it into his pocket wallet.”
“Certain?”
“I watched him—it meant two hundred and eight pounds to me, did that tiny piece of paper.”