"Oh, the men were experts. There can be no questions about that!" cut in the deep voice of the inspector. "Now, Mr. Burton, instead of wasting time in reprimands, we've got to get down to facts. May I question these people?"
"Certainly, certainly!" Mr. Burton, however, seemed to be taken aback at being treated with such scant ceremony. "This is Mr. Hollings, the clerk; and this lad is my son, Christopher."
"Very good! Now, Mr. Hollings, suppose you tell your tale first. Relate exactly what happened—not what you thought or supposed. Stick to facts."
"I will, sir."
In a trembling voice Hollings began his story, and as he recounted it, Mr. Inspector jotted it down, merely pausing now and then to ask a curt question.
"Can you describe the men?" inquired he, when the narrative was finished.
"I'm afraid I can't, sir, beyond the fact that both of them wore raccoon motoring coats, and kept their collars pretty well turned up. You see I was far too much occupied with what they were saying to consider how they looked."
"You could not identify them then?"
"Not positively—no, I regret to say I couldn't. I might possibly recognize the hand or the voice of the big man."
"The one who tried on the rings?"