“Thought so. Well, Druce, am I right?”
“Well, sir, Mason certainly did have a puff or two—only for a few minutes though.”
“Why did you come back with him—upstairs again—when you were going home?”
“For my things, sir. I never collected ’em together when I ’eard ’im knock. I always went straight down to ’im.”
Goodall nodded. “You and Mason were certainly long enough absent from the room to give this fellow his chance and Mason paid for his mistake with his life, poor chap. Now—about this woman, Druce—what was she like? Describe her!”
Druce shook his head with evident misgiving. “I’m afraid I can’t ’elp you much there, sir. I ain’t much of a ’and at descriptions—my daughter Poppy now—if she were ’ere she’d be able to——”
“Describe a woman she’d never seen, I suppose,” snapped Goodall. “Come now.”
Druce pulled up with a jerk. “Well, she ’ad on dark clothes and some sort of an ’at—and was about middle height.” He concluded hopefully.
Goodall turned away with a gesture of dismay.
“And yet we’re informed that all undiscovered crimes are the fault of the Police,” he said bitterly. “When we get civilian help like this.”