Carrados turned to his friend.
“I suppose you know all about the typist by now, Louis?”
“We have had her under efficient observation, Max,” replied Mr Carlyle, with severe dignity.
“Is she unmarried?”
“Yes; so far as ordinary repute goes, she is.”
“That is all that is essential for the moment. Mr Hollyer opens up three excellent reasons why this man might wish to dispose of his wife. If we accept the suggestion of poisoning—though we have only a jealous woman’s suspicion for it—we add to the wish the determination. Well, we will go forward on that. Have you got a photograph of Mr Creake?”
The lieutenant took out his pocket-book.
“Mr Carlyle asked me for one. Here is the best I could get.”
Carrados rang the bell.
“This, Parkinson,” he said, when the man appeared, “is a photograph of a Mr——What first name, by the way?”