“Fernando said that they were white,” repeated Curtis. “I had to depend upon his eyesight.”
“But,” McLane took out his handkerchief and dabbed his forehead, “the hair Penfield found about the button was chestnut in color. I’ve seen it and it certainly came from Anne’s head.”
“Possibly Fernando lied when he told me the hair was white.”
“Sure, he might have; with the object of shielding Anne. The servants are devoted to her,” McLane added. “Let me see the hair and I can settle the question.”
“Unfortunately the hair has disappeared out of my wallet.”
“Good Lord!” McLane sat back and regarded Curtis in startled surprise.
“I discovered it was missing during the inquest at the time it was stated that the hair Penfield found was chestnut in color,” went on Curtis. “Having nothing to prove my statement, I kept silent.”
“I see!” McLane gnawed at his upper lip. A second or more passed before he broke the silence. “There isn’t a white-haired woman in the household,” he said.
“Then Fernando lied,” Curtis’ lips compressed into a hard line, “and not for the first time. Listen attentively, Leonard.” The injunction was hardly needed, but Curtis could not see his companion’s absorbed regard as he sat back watching him. “When dressing for dinner on Sunday evening I told Fernando to tie a string on the outside knob of my door so that when I came upstairs, if I was alone, I could identify my bedroom without difficulty.”
“Did he do so?”