"No—yes; I caught a glimpse of him, I think, with a girl in green."
"You know who she was?" Henshaw demanded.
"I've not the vaguest idea," Kelson answered mechanically. "I did not see her face."
Henshaw rose. Perhaps from Kelson's manner he gathered that the men were tired, and had had enough of him. He shook hands, with a word of thanks and an apology. "We may know more after the inquest to-morrow afternoon," he remarked, "although I doubt it. You will let me consult you again, if necessary? Thanks. Goodnight."
As the door closed on Henshaw, Kelson turned quickly to Gifford with a scared face. "Hugh!" he cried hoarsely, in a voice subdued by fear. "The blood stain on my cuff that night. How did it come there? Was it—?"
Gifford forced a smile. "My dear Harry, how absurd! What could that have had to do with it?"
Kelson gave an uncomfortable laugh. "It is a grim coincidence," he said.
CHAPTER IX
THE CLOAK OF NIGHT
At the inquest which was held next day nothing was elicited which could offer any solution of the mystery of Clement Henshaw's death. It seemed to be pretty generally accepted to be a case of suicide, although that view was opposed in evidence, not only by Gervase Henshaw on general grounds, but also by the medical witnesses, who had grave doubts whether the mortal wound had been self-inflicted.