"Then let Mrs. Povy do so."
Dowker grew angry--the self-possession and coolness of this young man annoyed him--so he resolved for the present to temporise.
"Well, well, Mr. Desmond, I suppose you can give a good account of yourself on that night?"
"Certainly, to the proper authorities."
"Good morning," said Dowker, and walked out of the room. When he got into the street he strolled along a little way, thinking deeply.
"Confound him! He knows something," he said to himself, "and refuses to tell. I won't lose sight of him, so I must get that little devil, Flip, to look after him. I'll look him up now, and start him at once."
Just as he was about to put this resolve into execution he saw the door of the house he had just left open, and the servant came out with a piece of paper in her hand, which the keen-eyed detective saw was a telegraph form.
"Hullo!" said Dowker to himself. "I wonder if Mr. Desmond's sending that. I'll just find out."
Rondalina went along to the little post-office at the end of the street, and turned in. Shortly afterwards, Dowker followed, and, going to the counter, took a telegraph form as if to send a telegram. The girl was attending to someone else, and Rondalina, with the telegram opened out before her, was waiting her turn. Dowker dexterously leaned across her to get a pen, and glanced rapidly at the telegram, which he read in a moment:
"PENFOLD,