Inspector Potter looked up from his notebook. He was a bald-headed giant with a small tuft of moustache, a reddish face, and an eye like a ruminating cow; and he was dogged if bewildered. He looked at Bennett rather suspiciously. "Nameanaddress," recited the inspector, in gruff positiveness. "If foreigner," more suspicion, "suggest references. Not under oath but advise for own good complete frankness. Now!"
"Now, then, Potter," interposed Masters with some asperity, "you want my help; is that it? Eh?"
`That," said the inspector, "that I do, sir."
"Well, then-!" said Masters persuasively, and waved his hand. "I'll manage for a bit, if you don't mind. Now, Mr. Bennett, I want to stress the importance of this. I want you to get it down clear. Thompson]"
Thompson came forward. His reddish-rimmed eyes showed a very definite hostility, but his voice was docile; and he looked (Bennett thought) the most respectable man in the room.
"You told Inspector Potter," Masters went on sharply, "that the snowfall stopped last night at just after two o'clock — no more or less — and you can swear to it?"
"Yes, sir. I'm afraid I can:'
"Afraid? What do you mean, afraid?"
"Why, sir, only that I shouldn't want to cause any trouble," Thompson replied without inflection, "for the police. I can swear to it. I didn't close an eye all night."
Masters turned back.