“Then I should have lost. I admit I never thought of that.”
French continued to observe, and he went on with more seriousness in his manner.
“Yes, and I’m on rather important business, too. Man wanted for murder and robbery in the City. A bad affair enough. He murdered the confidential clerk of a diamond merchant in Hatton Garden and rifled the safe and got off with I don’t know how many thousand pounds’ worth of stuff.”
At the commencement of French’s reply the stranger had listened with but little more than a conventional interest, but at the mention of a diamond merchant in Hatton Garden he figuratively sat up and began to take notice.
“Hatton Garden?” he repeated. “That’s an extraordinary coincidence. Why, I belong to a firm of diamond merchants in Hatton Garden. I know them all. Who was the man?”
Inspector French was puzzled. Either Vanderkemp—for there could no longer be any doubt of his identity—was innocent, or he was an almost incredibly good actor. Anxious to observe the man further, he fenced a little in his reply.
“Is it possible you haven’t heard?” he asked in apparent surprise. “How long is it since you have heard from home?”
“Haven’t had a line of any kind since I left, and that’s nearly three weeks ago; on the night of the 25th of last month to be exact.”
“The 25th! Well, that’s a coincidence, too. That’s the very night poor old Mr. Gething was killed.”
Vanderkemp stiffened suddenly and his hands closed on the arms of his chair.