‘Explain!’ cried Sutherland impatiently.
The chief opened his desk, and took out a large handbill, which he unfolded.
‘Just look at this, sir,’ he said, while the young man read it with a shudder. ‘This is only a copy of the bill which the police will have all over London to-morrow, and perhaps in some of the papers. I’ve already been down to Chelsea to make an inspection, and I don’t think there’s any mistake about it. What makes it quite clear is the bracelets. Her Christian name—Madeline—is graven inside.—But you’re not well, sir. I don’t wonder it has turned you sick. Shall I give you a drop of brandy? I have it handy.’
Sutherland, who had turned faint and deadly pale, recovered himself with an effort.
‘Never mind me. Think of him, her husband. You say you haven’t communicated with him?’
‘No, sir. It was only found early this morning, and the moment I heard of the discovery I sent straight to you.’ ‘But the police——’
‘I’ve squared that. They won’t send to him to-night without communicating with me.’
‘The shock will be frightful—enough to kill him.’
‘No doubt of that, but there’s no help for it—he must know.’
‘The first thing to do is to make certain of the identity. The description may be misleading. I suppose I can see her?’