“You refuse to name him, or call him on your behalf?” said the chief officer, raising his eyebrows. “I do.”
“Are you aware of the significance of this symbol?”
“Perfectly—in a general sense.”
“Then perhaps it will be no surprise to you to know that a lady named Inglewood was discovered murdered at her house in Bedford Place some time ago, with an identical seal pinned upon her breast, and further, that a woman was found in Angel Court a short time back. Her throat was cut, and she lay within a few yards of where you were arrested. Upon her body was found a portion of paper to which part of a seal adhered, and this paper, which is in our possession, exactly fits the piece that has been torn from the one found in your pocket-book.”
“It does!” I cried, amazed, for in a moment I recognised the serious suspicion now resting upon me.
“Now; what have you to say?”
“I have nothing to add,” I said dreamily.
“And you still refuse your address?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, then; we must find out for ourselves.” After a few words to the detectives in an undertone, he turned and said,—