"Certainly, you can," said Harding, extricating it from his pocket-book.
The Sergeant sat and studied it for a time in silence. Then he said: "I don't see it, sir. I'm bound to say I don't see it."
"Don't see what?"
"What we took for an H might be a W," pursued the Sergeant.- "To me it looks like an H, but there you are. But what about that E and the R, what's more? No, sir, I don't see how you make it out to be Twining, and that's a fact."
"But I don't," said Harding. "I get THERE out of it, and I have a notion that Mrs. Twining might be able to tell me what those letters mean. Where does she live?"
The Sergeant, rather chagrined, gave the necessary directions and handed back the paper. Harding put it away, and went off in search of Mrs. Twining.
Blessington House was situated about three miles from the Grange, and was a low stone building set in a charming garden. The Inspector was lucky enough to find Mrs. Twining at home and, upon sending in his card, was taken at once to a sunny, chintz-decorated room at the back of the house. Mrs. Twining was writing letters at a marquetry bureau there, but she rose as Harding entered, and said with a faint smile: "Good afternoon, Inspector. What is it I am to do for you?"
"Nothing very much," Harding answered. "I ought to apologise for bothering you, when it is quite my fault that. I have to!" He took several folded sheets from his pocket. "I stupidly forgot to ask you to sign the statement you made to me on Tuesday. Would you mind? — your full name, of course."
She took the papers, her delicate brows a little raised. "Another statement to sign?" she asked.
"I'm afraid so," he smiled. "These things have to be done, you know."