Markfield's eyes narrowed and he glanced with obvious unfriendliness at the Inspector.
“It's a coat-button, by the look of it. I'm no specialist in buttons, I admit. It might have come off any lounge suit, so far as I can see.”
“I'd advise you not to fence with us too long, Dr. Markfield,” Flamborough suggested. “Look at the cloth. Does that remind you of anything that's familiar to you?”
Markfield's face betrayed his obvious annoyance.
“I suppose you've identified it already for yourselves. Why come to me? Presumably you mean that it's a bit torn off Dr. Silverdale's laboratory coat. Well, I can't swear to that. It may be, for all I know. Why not compare it with the coat, and if the coat's torn, you've got your evidence, whatever it may be. I don't see why you drag me into the thing at all.”
Flamborough's voice grew hard as he answered:
“There's one thing I want you to bear in mind, Dr. Markfield. A man may very easily become an accessory after the fact in a murder case; and the penalty runs as high as penal servitude for life. I'm not at all satisfied with the way in which you seem to have determined to evade some of the questions I've had to put to you; and I'd like to remind you that you may be running risks. It would be far better if you'd deal frankly with us instead of shuffling.”
The covert threat seemed to have its effect on Markfield. He looked sulky, but he appeared to make up his mind to alter his tactics.
“Well, ask your questions, then,” he snapped. “But put them on matters of fact. I'm not going to say what I think about this and what I suppose about that. I'll tell you anything that I know definitely, if you ask about it.”
Flamborough wasted no time before taking up the challenge.