"Ye'll just indulge an old man's fancy?" he said, placatingly. "There's some queer marking inside the lid of that bit of a box that the poor man kept his tobacco in. I'd like to take a photograph of them. Man! you don't know that an examination of them mightn't be useful."
CHAPTER V
THE NEWS FROM DEVONPORT
The police-inspector, a somewhat silent, stolid sort of man, looked down from his superior height on Mr. Cazalette's eager face with a half-bored, half-tolerant expression; he had already seen a good deal of the old gentleman's fussiness.
"What is it about the box?" he demanded.
"Certain marks on it—inside the lid—that I'd like to photograph," answered Mr. Cazalette. "They're small and faint, but if I get a good negative of them I can enlarge it. And I say again, you don't know what one mightn't find out—any little detail is of value in a case of this sort."
The inspector picked up the metal tobacco-box from where it lay amidst Quick's belongings and looked inside the lid. It was very plain that he saw nothing there but some—to him meaningless scratches and he put the thing into Mr. Cazalette's hands with an air of indifference.
"I see no objection," he said. "Let's have it back when you've done with it. We shall have to exhibit these personal properties before the coroner."