“Come and I will show you. On the left”—as they passed along the flagged pavement—“is St. Nicholas Church and churchyard. On the right here there are just offices. The street in front of us is Henschell Street. All of those buildings are stockbrokers’ offices.”
“And directly opposite,” she asked,—“that is a café, is it not,—a restaurant, as you would call it?”
Laverick nodded.
“That is so,” he agreed. “One goes in there sometimes for a drink.”
“And a meeting place, perhaps?” she inquired. “It would probably be a meeting place. One might leave there and walk down this passage naturally enough.”
Laverick inclined his head.
“As a matter of fact,” he declared, “I think that the evidence went to prove that there were no visitors in the restaurant that night. You see, all these offices round here close at six or seven o’clock, and the whole neighborhood becomes deserted.”
She shrugged her shoulders impatiently.
“Your English police, they do not know how to collect evidence. In the hands of Frenchmen, this mystery would have been solved long before now. The guilty person would be in the hands of the law. As it is, I suppose that he will go free.”
“Well, we must give the police a chance, at any rate,” answered Laverick. “They haven’t had much time so far.”