“We'll go along to Dr. Silverdale's room,” he said, leading the way to the door. “You had better come with us, Dr. Markfield. You'll do as a witness, perhaps.”
“I'm not very keen,” Markfield retorted grumblingly.
However, he followed Sir Clinton and the Inspector along the corridors to Silverdale's laboratory. The room was empty, but the door was unlocked and the Inspector opened it and stepped inside. A glance round the place revealed Silverdale's laboratory jacket hanging on a peg; and Flamborough went over and took it down.
“Now we'll see,” he said, laying it on the table and spreading it out for examination. “Ah, I thought there was no mistake.”
He pointed to the right-hand side, where it was obvious that one of the buttons had been wrenched away, taking a piece of the cloth with it.
“Now we'll see if it fits,” Flamborough continued, producing the fragment of fabric found in Whalley's hand and adjusting it to the tear in the coat. “That's clear enough. You see now the stains on the two bits correspond exactly.”
Markfield leaned over and satisfied himself that the Inspector's statement was accurate.
“What is this bit of cloth?” he asked.
Flamborough, however, had found something further, and Markfield got no answer to his question.
“Look there,” the Inspector ejaculated, indicating a a small brownish stain on the breast of the jacket. “That's blood, clear enough.”