“And when I tell you that John Hyde has not been seen at his office since Tuesday, May 14th?”
Randall had wandered over to where his cigarette-box stood, and his back was momentarily turned to Hannasyde. “Who says that he has not been seen since May 14th?” he asked.
“The man who runs the shop—and I don't think he was lying.”
“It doesn't seem to me a very valuable piece of information,” Randall remarked, coming back to his chair. “He may conceivably be ill, or away.”
“Certainly,” said Hannasyde. “But there is an elusive quality to Mr John Hyde which needs explaining. There is something more than a little odd about a man who has no home address, Mr Matthews.” He got up. “I'm sorry you can't help me.”
“Looking for mares' nests has never been one of my pastimes, Superintendent. May I know whether you have been favoured with a description of your quarry?”
“A very vague one, which might possibly be false.”
“How useful! And what was it?”
“A middle-aged man, with an ordinary face. That's all so far.”
“I should give it up, if I were you,” said Randall.