“I want to consult you, Grindlay,” I said seriously. “I have made a discovery.”
“A discovery!” he laughed. “What is it, some mechanical invention?”
“No. A body!”
“A body!” he echoed, arching his thick, dark brows, and regarding me keenly.
“Yes,” I said. “I want to tell you all about it, for I’ve come to seek your assistance. Shall we be disturbed?”
He crossed the room, locked the door, and then, motioning me to a chair, took one himself on the opposite side of the small table, and announced his readiness to hear my story.
Commencing at the beginning, I described my meeting with Sybil at Bagnères de Luchon, my love for her, the midnight marriage, and her death.
“What name did she give you?” he inquired interrupting me.
“I understood that her name was Henniker,” I replied. “Sybil Henniker.”
He inclined his head. Proceeding I told him of the subsequent strange events, the finding of the wreath upon her grave with my card, whereon was written the words, “Seek and you may find,” of the discovery of her photograph in the shop in Regent Street, together with that of Gilbert Sternroyd.