“Hardly my business to discuss another man's affairs, is it?” he demanded, obviously annoyed by the Inspector's query. “I don't think I'm called upon to repeat the tittle-tattle of the town.”
“You mean you don't know anything personally?”
“I mean I'm not inclined to gossip about the domestic affairs of a colleague. If you're so keen on them, you can go and ask him direct.”
It was quite evident that Markfield had strong views on the subject of what he called “tittle-tattle”; and the Inspector realised that nothing would be gained by pursuing the matter. At the same time, he was amused to see that Markfield, by his loyalty to his colleague, had betrayed the very thing which he was trying to conceal. It was obvious that things had not gone smoothly in the Silverdale household, or Markfield would have had no reason for burking the question.
“You mentioned young Hassendean's name,” Flamborough continued. “You know that he's been murdered, of course?”
“I saw it in the paper this morning. He's no great loss,” Markfield said brutally. “We had him here in the Institute, and a more useless pup you'd be hard put to it to find.”
“What sort of person was he?” the Inspector inquired.
“One of these bumptious brats who think they ought to have everything they want, just for the asking. He'd a very bad swelled head. Herring-gutted, too, I should judge. He used to bore me with a lot of romantic drivel until I sat on him hard once or twice. I couldn't stand him.”
It was evident that young Hassendean had rasped Markfield's nerves badly.
“Had anyone a grudge against him, do you think?”