Paul interrupted. "The best thing to do is to question Lester himself," he said, "force him either into confession or into defence."
"It is the most straightforward way," assented Drek rising. "Let us go into the consulting-room at once and look at the clothes."
"And look for the revolver," suggested Paul significantly.
The inspector nodded, and they sought the presence of Dr. Lester. The wretched creature was recovering his senses, and as they entered he was drinking long draughts from the water-bottle to clear his head. At the sound of their footsteps he started nervously, and turned towards them a white and haggard face. Paul wondered whether his looks and manner were due to drink or to guilt; certainly to one, perhaps to both.
"Do you want to see me, gentlemen?" said the doctor, rising, with shaking limbs.
"Yes," said Drek, with a keen glance at the wreck before him. "I wish to ask you a few questions."
"Relative to the murder of my poor girl?"
"Relative to the red mud on your clothes."
"Red mud!" stammered Lester, with what appeared to be genuine amazement. "I have no red mud on my clothes!" and he looked down at his apparel.
"I refer to the clothes you wore last night," said Drek shortly.