"And then I suppose you'll join in the search for it?" said the Sergeant, torn between disapproval and amusement.
"No, that would savour strongly of hypocrisy," answered Neville serenely. "There you are, Superintendent. I shan't invite you to stay and have tea, because my aunt might come back."
Once outside the house, the Sergeant said: "Came over me in a flash! Do you know what that silly smile of his makes me think of, Super?"
"No, what?"
"That picture people make such a fuss about, though why I've never been able to make out. Pie-faced creature, with a nasty, sly smile."
"The Mona Lisa!" Hannasyde laughed suddenly. "Yes, I see what you mean. Odd young man. I can't make up my mind about him at all."
"There are times," said the Sergeant, "when I'd ask nothing better than to be able to pin this murder on to him. However, I'm bound to say it isn't, to my way of thinking, arty enough for him. My lord would go all out for something pretty subtle, if you ask me."
"I shouldn't be at all surprised if you're right," said Hannasyde.
In another few minutes they boarded an omnibus which set them down within a stone's throw of the police station. PC Glass had not returned from his quest, and Hannasyde, having ascertained over the telephone that North was not at his office, put through a call to Scotland Yard, and asked whether Inspector Jevons had come in. He was soon connected with the Inspector, who had, however, little to report. He had discovered the block of flats in which her unknown protector had installed Angela Angel, but her apartment had been rented by a man calling himself Smith. The hall porter was sure he would recognise the gentleman if he saw him again, and described him as being slim, dark, and very well dressed.
Hannasyde glanced at his watch, and decided to return to London, leaving the Sergeant to pick up any information that Glass might bring in. He appointed a meeting-time at Headquarters, and went off, bearing the portrait of Fletcher with him.