Mrs. Marx again shook her head positively.
"Not any."
"You speak of a Mr. Sagon. Of what nationality is he?"
"Oh, he's French, but he's lived a long time in Antwerp. That's where he learned the diamond business. And he must have lived in other places in Europe; Mr. Spatola says he has spoken of them often."
Just then there came from below the sound of a heavy voice, singing. The words were French and the intonation here and there was strange to Ashton-Kirk.
"Who is that?" he asked.
"It's Mr. Sagon," replied the woman. "He's the greatest one for singing them little French songs."
"Ah, I have it," said Ashton-Kirk, after a moment. "He's a Basque, of course. I couldn't place that accent at first."
A narrow, ladder-like flight of stairs was upon one side. Ashton-Kirk mounted these and found himself in a smaller loft; a number of well-kept cockatoos, in cages, set up a harsh screaming at sight of him. Opening a low door he stepped out upon a tin roof. Mrs. Marx and Pendleton had followed him, and the former said:
"The police was up here looking. They said Mr. Spatola came through the trap-door at Hume's place that night and walked along the roofs and so down to his own room."