Simon’s eye caught a gleam on the floor. He ignored Kearney’s revolver entirely to step forward and pick it up.
“Look.”
“A tooth out of a comb,” Kearney said scornfully. “So what?”
“A spring tooth,” Simon said, “from the kind of comb women wear in their hair. And dark red-brown — the colour she’d use.”
Chapter thirteen
Mrs Wingate and Stephen Elliott caught both of them up at that point. The philanthropist was quivering with a kind of pale-lipped restraint.
“This is the most outrageous suggestion I’ve ever heard, Mr Templar,” he said. “Lieutenant Kearney tells me—”
“Oh. I do hope you’re mistaken!” babbled Laura Wingate. “She’s such a sweet person. I’d die if anything happened to her.”
“If anything happened to her, it would not be here,” Elliott stated frostily. “Lieutenant, I think you’d better take Mr Templar and his accusations to the proper authority.”
Kearney nodded.