“I think I'll include myself in the invitation,” Sir Clinton volunteered. “And, by the way, you'd better take that fly-in-the-amber cigarette-holder with you, if they've finished with it downstairs. Young Hassendean was working at the Croft-Thornton and someone there may be able to identify it for us if it was his. I'm not anxious to trouble his relations in the matter.”
“Very good, sir,” Flamborough acquiesced. “You'll want your car. I'll give the order for it now.”
Chapter VII.
The Fly in the Amber
At the door of the big block of buildings which formed the Croft-Thornton Institute, Inspector Flamborough made inquiries from the porter and obtained a guide through the labyrinth of stairs and corridors.
“This is Dr. Markfield's laboratory, sir,” their pilot finally informed them as he knocked on a door. “Two gentlemen to see you, sir,” he announced, standing aside to allow Sir Clinton and the Inspector to enter.
As they walked into the laboratory, Trevor Markfield came towards them from one of the benches at which he had been occupied. His face betrayed his slight surprise at finding two strangers before him.
“What can I do for you!” he inquired politely, but without any needless effusiveness.
Flamborough, in response to an almost imperceptible gesture from his superior, stepped to the front.
“This is Sir Clinton Driffield, the Chief Constable, Dr. Markfield. I'm Inspector Flamborough. We've called to see if you could give us some expert assistance in a case.”
Markfield, after a glance at a water-bath on which a flask was being heated, led the way to a little office which adjoined the laboratory and closed the door behind the party.