The inspector fingered the tips of his moustache. "I've made a note of all you told me about him, sir."
"Yes, I know: I saw you. But doesn't it strike you that he might, if interrogated skilfully, throw a good deal more light on the matter?"
"He might, sir, and of course we shall have to consider that. But on the other hand you never know with these dope-maniacs. Still, I shall go into it. You can safely leave it to me."
Peter looked at Charles. "I think that's all, isn't it? There's nothing else we wanted to ask the inspector?"
Charles' expression of rather sleepy boredom had been growing steadily more marked. "I can't remember anything else," he replied. "Unless you think we might invite him to come and take part in our seance to-night? Or do you think the presence of a stranger might make the Monk shy?"
"Yes, I do," said Peter hastily, and edged him towards the door.
The inspector held it open for them, and they went through into the charge room. A man in a felt hat and a light raincoat was standing by the counter that ran across the end of the room, and as the door opened he glanced over his shoulder. For a fleeting instant his eyes encountered Charles', then he turned his back again, and bent over some form he appeared to be filling in. But quickly though he moved Charles had had time to recognise him. It was Michael Strange.
"Oh, half a minute!" Charles said. "I think I've left my gloves on your table, inspector."
"Gloves? You didn't have any, did you?" Peter asked.
"Yes, I did," Charles said, and went past him, back into the room. He motioned to the inspector to close the door, and as soon as this had been done, he said softly: "No gloves at all, but I've just seen the very man we've been discussing. Strange."