Harding propped his chin in his hand, and looked thoughtfully before him, at the closed door. "He's got a very cool head on his shoulders," he remarked. "And he doesn't mean to give anything away. I wonder."
The Sergeant gave a little cough. "There was one thing as struck me, sir."
"Let's have it, Sergeant."
"Well, sir, he wouldn't show that scratch on his wrist to anyone yesterday, but he was what I'd call very prompt in letting you see it today."
"He was," agreed Harding.
"Of course, it doesn't prove anything," said the Sergeant.
"That," replied Harding, "is just the trouble."
The door opened, and Miss de Silva sailed into the room.
Harding rose, betraying no visible sign of surprise"Miss de Silva?" he asked.
"Yes," announced the lady. "I am La Lola." Her gaze lighted on the Sergeant, and kindled. "Is it you whom I have told that I will not have looking at me as though I am an assassin?" she demanded.