"I had a bad nose-bleed!" Roydon blurted out.
The Sergeant, who was a silent witness, turned his slow gaze upon Hemingway, to see how he would receive this explanation.
"Do you burn your handkerchiefs every time you have a nose-bleed?" asked Hemingway.
"No, of course I don't, but I knew what you'd think if you found it! I - I lost my head!"
"When did you have this nose-bleed?"
"Last night, after I'd gone up to bed. I put the handkerchief in my suitcase, and then I thought - I thought if you were to find it there it would look suspicious. I heard you were searching the house, and - and I thought I'd better get rid of it!"
"Did you tell anyone about your nose-bleed?"
"No. No, naturally I didn't! It isn't anything to make a fuss about. As a matter of fact, I often get them."
"But this morning, when you were afraid I might find the handkerchief, didn't you think to mention to anyone what had happened?"
"Yes, but I couldn't say it then! I mean, it would have sounded odd. At least, I thought it would. Everyone would have wondered if it was true, or if I was only trying to account for the blood on my handkerchief. Oh, I know I behaved like a fool, but I swear I had nothing to do with the murder!"