"Thanks. No bogies? That's where I was goin'," volunteered H. M. "I got to see something, and I want to issue a couple of orders if I see what I think I will. Masters here has been holdin' out on me. Why don't you tell me about all the evidence? You find John Bohun with a bullet in his chest and a funny-lookin' little piece of silver held tight in his hand; but nobody bothers to tell me about that piece of silver. Where'd you put it, Masters?"
Masters shifted from one foot to the other. He had his hat and overcoat on, and was presumably on his way back to Inspector Potter's for a much belated tea.
"But we don't know it's important, sir!" he protested. "Some keepsake, perhaps. He'd got nothing to do with the murder, and it wasn't likely he'd be holding in his hand a clue to something he didn't do-especially as he'd just written a suicide note saying he didn't do it. It had some sentimental value, probably. I put it in the drawer of the table."
"Sentimental value, hey? Well, we'll find out. Mind comin' in, Miss Bohun? Shut the door, Jimmy my boy."
H. M. pulled out a large oak chair and lowered himself into it. He pulled open the drawer of the table.
Now, as any poker-player at the Diogenes Club could have told him, Bennett had discovered that any attempt to read H. M.'s thoughts was a highly unprofitable occupation. His face retained the same massively dull expression. From the table drawer he fished the same small triangular bit of silver, with its curious scrollwork, which Bennett had last seen when Masters held it out for inspection that morning. H. M. did not scowl or start or give any sign. But there was a perceptible pause before he spoke, as though he had heard rather than seen something.
He weighed the silver in his hand.
"Humph. No. Looks as though it's busted off something. This mean anything to you, Miss Bohun? Anything of sentimental value, that he'd be likely to want in his hand when he took the Interestin' Step? Now, now, don't worry; I know he's goin' to be all right."
She shook her head. "N — no. I never saw it before." There was a clink as H. M. dropped the bit of silver back into the drawer.
"I'll tell you what, Masters. I'm goin' up to London tomorrow mornin'. I know a silversmith, feller I did a good turn for once, lives in a funny shop back of Lincoln's Inn Fields. He'll tell me what this thing is in a second. I'll pick it up tomorrow and take it to show him. That is — if it's necessary. May be, may not be. Depends. I was thinkin' of somethin' else." He hauled out his watch and blinked at it. "It is now seven o'clock. We're goin' to dine at half-past… Miss Bohun, what time was it last night when you went on your sight-seein' tour by moonlight, and you came to this room, and somebody tried to shove La Tait down those stairs over there?"