"Look here, what's the matter with you?" demanded the Sergeant. "Some actress given you the air, or what?"
"I have no dealings with actresses."
"Well, then, stopp panning them. How do you know anything about this poor girl's end, anyway?" He laid the portrait down.
"Anything else, Chief?"
"Nothing so far."
At this moment the door opened and Miss Fletcher came in. She was dressed in deep mourning, and her plump cheeks were rather pale, but she smiled sweetly at Hannasyde. "Oh, Superintendent - you are a Superintendent, aren't you?"
He had risen to his feet, and unobtrusively slid the big blotter over the heap of photographs. "Yes, that's right, madam."
She looked at the mass of papers on the desk. "Oh dear, what a lot you must have to do! Now, tell me, would you like a little refreshment?"
He declined it, which seemed to disappoint her, and asked her civilly if she wished to speak to him.
"Well, yes," she admitted. "Only any time will do. You're busy now, and I mustn't disturb you."