“I've been expecting you, Inspector Flamborough,” he said, as soon as he realised who his visitors were. “This has been a dreadful business last night. It was a bolt from the blue to me when I got home this morning.”
He paused, and looked inquiringly at the Inspector.
“Have you any notion why that unfortunate maid of mine was murdered? It's a complete mystery to me. A dreadful business.”
Flamborough exchanged a glance with the Chief Constable. As Silverdale had ignored his wife's death, it seemed to the Inspector that the news of it might be broken to him later, when the other case had been dealt with. Silverdale, of course, could hardly have picked up any hint about the affairs at the bungalow, since a knowledge of them was still confined to the police and Dr. Ringwood.
“We're rather at a loss at present,” Flamborough admitted frankly. “As things stand, it looks rather like a case of a detected burglar who killed the woman when she disturbed him at his work. Had you any stock of valuables on your premises which might have attracted gentry of that sort?”
Silverdale shook his head.
“My wife had a certain amount of jewellery, but I don't think any burglar would have found it worth while to go the length of murder for the sake of it.”
“Where did Mrs. Silverdale keep her jewellery?”
“I rather think it's kept in one of the drawers of an old chest-of-drawers in her room—the drawer that the man broke into. But she may have other things elsewhere. We had different rooms, you know; and I never troubled to find out where she put things in her own room.”
“I suppose you couldn't give us a list of your wife's jewellery?”