“Certainly not,” replied Randall rather haughtily. “I am not a member of the club. Are there any other little things you would like me to tell you?”
“There are many things I should like you to tell me, Mr Matthews, but I think I will not trouble you with them today.” He picked up the newspaper, and restored it to his pocket.
“I believe,” said Randall, faintly smiling, “that for some obscure reason of your own, you connect me with the disappearance of Hyde, or his papers, or both. Would you like to search my flat?”
Somewhat taken aback Hannasyde said shortly: “No, Mr Matthews, I should not. I have no warrant to search your flat, nor do I suppose that I should find anything if' I had. I will wish you good-morning.”
Randall opened the door for him, and followed him out into the hall. “Good-bye, my dear Superintendent,” he said, with his hand on the latch of the front door. “Or shall I say au revoir? Come in any time you're passing: I am always pleased to see you.”
“You are too kind!” said Hannasyde. “Good-bye, Mr Matthews!”
He went out, just as Stella Matthews came up the stairs on to the landing.
“Why, if it is not my beloved little cousin Stella!” said Randall, an inflexion of surprise in his voice. “My sweet, is it possible that you have come to call on me, or have you merely got into the wrong house?”
Stella murmured good-morning to the Superintendent, and waited until he had disappeared round a bend in the staircase. “No, I've come to see you—on business,” she replied. “I tried Mr Carrington's office, but he was out, so I thought I might as well come here, and sound you.” She walked into the dove-grey hall, and looked critically about her. “What a weird-looking room!” she remarked. “Like some of Guy's efforts.”
“My God!” said Randall in a failing voice. “My poor ignorant child, have you no discrimination?”