“No, sir. I just slipped it in my pocket as it was.”
“And what became of it afterwards?”
“When I got home I dropped it into the dirty-linen basket.”
“Is that all you know about it?”
“Yes, sir; that is all I know.”
“Very well, Belfield, that will do. Now you have no reason to be uneasy. You will soon know all about the Camberwell murder—that is, if you read the papers.”
The ex-convict and his wife were obviously relieved by this assurance and departed in quite good spirits. When they were gone, Thorndyke produced the handkerchief and the half-sheet of paper and handed them to the superintendent, remarking—
“This is highly satisfactory, Miller; the whole case seems to join up very neatly indeed. Two months ago the wife first noticed the substituted handkerchief, and last Easter Monday—a little over two months ago—this very significant incident took place in the Zoological Gardens.”
“That is all very well, sir,” objected the superintendent, “but we’ve only their word for it, you know.”
“Not so,” replied Thorndyke. “We have excellent corroborative evidence. You noticed that I had cut a small piece out of the bloodstained portion of the handkerchief?”