“There was a motive, I believe, for that. We shall no doubt find that later.”
“You will communicate with Scotland Yard, I suppose,” I remarked.
“Perhaps we shall; perhaps not,” answered the inspector, vaguely. “The affair must, of course, be fully investigated. Have you anything to add? You say that some woman treated you kindly. Have you any idea of her personal appearance?”
“None,” I answered. “The only fact I know was that she was in evening dress, and that upon her wrist was a curious smooth-worn bangle of a kind of fine plaited wire, very pliable, like those worn by African native women.”
“Eh! What—impossible!” gasped the inspector, in a voice which surprised me. But next moment he recovered his self-possession and made a calm remark that this fact did not lead to anything definite. Yet the sudden exclamation of startled surprise which escaped him aroused within me a belief that my words had given him some mysterious clue.
“You have no further statement to make?”
“None,” I responded.
There was a few moments’ silence during which time the quill continued its rapid scratching.
“You will kindly sign your information,” the officer said, whereupon the constable brought me the sheet of foolscap and a pen wherewith I scrawled my name.
“Good,” observed the inspector, with a grunt of satisfaction. “And now I must ask you to excuse me further, Mr—Mr Heaton, and wish you good morning.”