“Yes, sir, I’m sure it was a man. And Mr. Trowbridge called him nephew.”
“That means, then, Mr. Landon, that it was you speaking, or some other nephew of Mr. Trowbridge.”
“Might not the stenographer have misunderstood the words? The young lady reports a strange conversation. I would never have dreamed of offering my uncle stephanotis.”
“I cannot think any man would. Therefore, I think Miss Wilkinson must have misunderstood that part of the talk.”
A diversion was created just here by the arrival of a messenger from headquarters, who brought a possible clue. It was a lead pencil which had been found near the scene of the crime.
“Who found it?” asked the coroner.
“One of the police detectives. He’s been scouring ground by daylight, but this is all he found.”
“Ah, doubtless from Mr. Trowbridge’s pocket. Do you think it was his, Miss Trowbridge?”
Avice looked at the pencil. “I can’t say positively,” she replied. “It very likely was his. I think it is the make he used.”
“Not much of a clue,” observed Groot, glancing at the pencil.