"I was engaged to hold my tongue," said Mrs. Vence, with great dignity, and tottered out of the room along the passage and into the kitchen.
Her repetition of the phrase dwelt in the sergeant's memory as he walked to the inn where Mr. Lemby was staying pending the inquest.
Purse entered the little dark and damp sitting-room, where the buccaneer bulked largely in the twilight atmosphere. It was a gloomy, grey day, by no means cheerful, and the sergeant was glad to warm his hands at the fire which Lemby's desire for comfort had provided. He also suggested a lamp.
"What the dickens should I do with a lamp at twelve o'clock," asked Lemby, bluffly. "It's darkish here I don't deny. But if you think that I'm afraid to show my blamed face let's go outside."
"I never suggested such a thing."
"You hint at it because you think I have something to do with this confounded murder, sergeant," roared the big man, garnishing his speech with oaths after his usual fashion.
"Don't talk rubbish, sir," said the sergeant, imperiously, for although a small man he had a great idea of his own importance. "There's no evidence to implicate you. All the same, I'm bound to say that anything you say will be used as evidence against you, if suspicions are aroused."
"There, dash you! Didn't I say you suspect me?" growled Lemby. "Well, you have stumbled on a mare's nest, hang you! No one was more surprised than I was when I stumbled on that policeman and that old hag dealing with a corpse."
"No one says otherwise," remarked Purse drily. "Undoubtedly the man who stole the bicycle is the guilty person. Do you know who he is?"
"No, dash you, I don't. Wyke said nothing to me about seeing anyone."