"That man who escaped in Sir Simon's fur coat."
"Mother's got the coat, and intends to keep it from the police if she can," observed Pope complacently. "Dr. Browne just asked to see it before I came to fetch you."
"Is Dr. Browne at the inn?"
"Yes. He came in a quarter of an hour ago, all puffing and blowing and covered with mud. Now he's talking to Sweetlips Kind, who wants to earn the reward. But he shan't, he shan't," cried Pope, clenching his lean, hard fist, "I'll get it. I'm going out to-morrow with some bread and cheese in my pocket, and will not come back until I find the man who killed Sir Simon."
"Then find the man in the fur coat."
"No, it's that Mr. Herries, and I'll ask Armour if he saw him. You know Armour's ill in bed, Elspeth. Inspector Trent went to see him before he left for Tarhaven. Armour sticks to his story of being carried away by men; they were sailors."
"Sailors," echoed Elspeth, stopping short in front of the inn, "how does Armour know that?"
"He saw, just for one moment before they muffled his head, that one had on a pea-jacket with brass buttons. I heard Inspector Trent say to Sweetlips Kind, that he expected they were sailors from Pierside, and that he is going over there to-morrow."
"I don't see what sailors have to do with the matter," said Elspeth half to herself, and now standing directly before the door.
She must have raised her voice unconsciously, for Mrs. Narby heard her words, and flung open the door, with a volley of bad language.