The inspector, engrossed with his own thoughts, said nothing in immediate reply to Woodman’s question; and the latter, after a pause, repeated it, remarking cheerfully, “What, daydreaming, are we? Won’t do in a detective, you know. Not at all what we expect of you, eh?” And, after putting his hand for a moment on the inspector’s shoulder, he abandoned his place of vantage before the fireplace and sat down in his desk-chair facing his visitor.
“I saw Mr. Walter Brooklyn yesterday—not, I am afraid, a very pleasant interview. He seemed to resent very much my asking him any questions—in fact he all but threw me downstairs,” the detective added with a laugh.
“What took you to see him?” asked Woodman. “I suppose it was about our seeing him outside the house.”
“It had come to my knowledge that Mr. Walter Brooklyn was actually in Mr. Prinsep’s room at Liskeard House at 11.30 on Tuesday night.”
“Good Lord, man, you don’t say so. Are you sure? Why, who in the world told you that?”
“Nobody actually saw him there; but he telephoned at that time to his club, said that he was speaking from Liskeard House, and asked if a registered parcel had arrived for him, as he wanted it sent round there at once.”
“Dear me, inspector, this throws a new—and a most distressing—light on the case. Did you discover from Mr. Brooklyn what he was doing at Liskeard House?”
“No, and it was exactly on that point that I came to see what you could tell me.”
“My dear chap, I’m as surprised as you are to know that he was there at all.”
“I understand from Mr. Brooklyn that he had seen you earlier in the day. It might help if I knew what was the business then.”