“Very good, sir. I'll drop in some other day. Now, another point, if you don't mind. Mrs. Silverdale wore a signet ring. Can you tell me anything about it? Did she get it from you or did she buy it herself?”
“I didn't make her a present of it,” Silverdale answered promptly. “I believe she got it made by some jeweller or other. I remember a few years ago she took it into her head to seal all her letters—some passing fad in the crowd she used to associate with, I suppose. But once she started doing it, she kept it up. I think she must have got the signet ring made for that purpose.”
Inspector Flamborough nodded thoughtfully as though he attached some importance to this information. Then, in a casual tone he inquired:
“You weren't at home last night, of course? Where were you?”
“I was——”
Suddenly a thought seemed to cross Silverdale's mind and he halted abruptly in his sentence. Then he amended his statement most obviously.
“I spent the night working here.”
Inspector Flamborough noted the words in his pocket-book with marked deliberation. Then he looked round the room and seemed dissatisfied with something. As though to give himself time to think before asking another question, he moved over to the window and gazed down thoughtfully into the main thoroughfare below. Whatever his reflections may have been, the result of them was singularly feeble. He turned back to Silverdale and put a final question:
“I suppose you can't think of any other point that might help us to throw light on this business, sir?”
Silverdale shook his head decidedly.