“When was this call you mention?”
The porter referred to his book. “It was about 11.30, or a bit before. The call before was at 11.20.”
“On what day?”
“On Tuesday of this week.”
“The night of the murder,” thought the inspector. “And did Mr. Brooklyn say where he was speaking from?”
“Yes, he was at Liskeard House, where he wanted the parcel sent.”
So Walter Brooklyn, who had apparently failed to secure admittance to the house just before 10.15, had somehow got into it afterwards, and was there at 11.30. He, like George Brooklyn, had slipped into the house unseen. That fact, with the fact of the stick, seemed to the inspector to determine his guilt, or at least his complicity in the crimes, or one of them. The stick and the telephone message, taken together, proved that he had been in Prinsep’s room.
The inspector next produced the stick. The porter recognised it at once as the one Walter Brooklyn always carried. He had never seen him with another. He was more sure than the porters at the Byron. He was prepared to swear to the stick. “But,” he added, “you’ve gone and lost the ferrule.”
The inspector had noticed that there was no ferrule; but it had not seemed important. It might have dropped off anywhere. He therefore followed up a different line.
“When did you see this stick last?”