"Can I?"
"You can and will."
The Seraph treated him to a long, unhurried scrutiny, starting from the boots and working up to the freckled face and sandy hair. Then he turned away, as though the subject had no further interest for him.
Nigel tried to return the stare, but broke into a blush and took refuge in his typewritten transcripts.
"I have here," he said, "a copy of the reports of the two detectives who watched Miss Davenant's house in Chester Square last night. They saw a woman, with her hair loose, and a long coat over whatever clothes she was wearing, jump into a car and drive to Adelphi Terrace."
"They were certain of the identity of the car?" I asked.
"Perfectly."
"They weren't when I talked to them last night," I said. "No number—no nothing. They thought it was the same car and called in on chance, as there was a light here, to see if we knew anything. I offered to show them round, but they wouldn't come in, so we prayed for mutually sweet dreams and parted."
Nigel tapped his papers.
"I have here their sworn statement that the car which left Chester Square was the car that turned into Adelphi Terrace."