"The first double comma, so to speak, is set below the line, and the other one above. But English writers and printers use both above the line. Isn't that so?"
"Yes. Whereas in the majority of French or Italian printing the commas are set as they are here—a trick which, to my mind, points to the strong probability, at least, of the writer of this letter being a foreigner of sorts."
"Italian! Why——" Suddenly a vision of the woman with the Italian name, Tochatti, Mrs. Carstairs' personal attendant, flashed into Anstice's mind, and Clive's eyes grew still keener in expression as he noted the eager tone in his visitor's voice.
"Well?" As Anstice paused the expert spoke quickly. "Does the suggestion convey anything to your mind?"
"Yes," said Anstice. "It does. But the only Italian—or half-Italian—person I know, a woman, by the way, is absolutely the last one I could suspect in the matter."
"Really?" As he spoke Clive removed his eyeglasses once more and stared with his brilliant eyes at the other man's face. "Don't forget that in cases like these it is generally the last person to be suspected who turns out to be the one responsible. Of course I don't know the facts of the case, and my suggestions are therefore of little practical value. At the same time the very fact that you are able at once to identify an Italian in the case——"
"She is not altogether Italian," said Anstice slowly. "She's a half-breed, so to speak—and I really can't in fairness suspect her, devoted as she is to Mrs. Carstairs——"
He broke off abruptly, annoyed with himself for having betrayed so much; but Clive's manner suddenly became more animated.
"See here, Dr. Anstice." He sat down again, and handed his cigarette case to his visitor. "May I be frank with you?"
"Certainly." He accepted a cigarette and Clive resumed immediately.