"No, I really don’t know what she has. I could tell you one or two things, of course; but I couldn’t guarantee to remember them all."
Flamborough switched off to a fresh line.
"This maid of yours was reliable? I mean, she couldn’t have been a confederate of the burglar by any chance?"
Silverdale shook his head.
"Quite out of the question, I should say. That maid had been with us ever since we were married; and before that she’d been in service with an aunt of mine who died. She’d always had a good character, and she was old enough not to do anything silly."
"An old family retainer? I see, sir. And you never had any friction with her, I suppose?"
"Certainly not."
Flamborough returned to his earlier line of inquiry.
"You can’t think of anything else a burglar might have had his eye on in your house, sir? Apart from the jewellery, I mean."
Silverdale seemed taken aback by the question.
"I don’t quite understand, I’m afraid. What could a burglar want except jewellery or plate? And he might take all the plate I keep away with him and not be much the richer."
Flamborough seemed unable to think of any fresh question to put on that particular subject. His face took on a new expression.
"I’m afraid we’ve got worse news for you, sir," he began, and in a few sentences he put Silverdale in possession of the barest outline of the bungalow tragedy. Sir Clinton, watching the manner in which the bereaved husband received the news, had to confess to himself that he could make nothing of what he saw. Silverdale’s manner and words were just what might have been expected in the circumstances.
Flamborough allowed a decent interval to elapse before he came directly to business once more.
"Now, Dr. Silverdale, I’m sorry I’ve got to ask some awkward questions; but I’m sure you’ll give us your best help in clearing up this affair. I hate to worry you—I’m sure you understand that—but it’s essential that we should get certain information at the earliest possible moment. That’s my excuse."
Before Silverdale could reply, the door of the laboratory opened, and a slim, graceful girl came into the room. At the sight of the two strangers, she halted shyly. Sir Clinton caught a gleam in Silverdale’s expression as he turned towards the girclass="underline" a touch of something difficult to define.
"Just a moment, Miss Deepcar, please. I’m engaged just now."
"I only came to tell you that I’d taken that mixed melting-point. It’s hyoscine picrate, as you thought it was."
"Thanks," Silverdale returned. "I’ll come round to your room in a few minutes. Please wait for me."
Something in the brief exchange of information seemed to have attracted Sir Clinton’s attention. He glanced at the girl as she turned to leave the room; then he appeared to re-concentrate his mind upon Flamborough’s questions.
"Now, Dr. Silverdale," Flamborough went on, "this is a very nasty business, and I don’t mind admitting that we’re in the dark just now. Can you think of anything which might connect the deaths of the maid and Mrs. Silverdale?"
Silverdale stared at the floor for a time, as though turning possibilities over in his mind.
"I can’t imagine how there could be any connection whatever," he said at last.
Flamborough decided to approach the most awkward part of his subject. It was impossible to tell from his manner what was coming next, but it was clear that he had something important to ask.
"Now, Dr. Silverdale, I want to be as tactful as I can; but if I go over the score, I hope you’ll take the will for the deed."
"Oh, you can be as blunt as you like," Silverdale retorted, with the first signs of impatience which he had shown. "Ask what you choose."
"Thanks," the Inspector answered with apparent relief. "Then I’ll come straight to the point. What precisely were the relations existing between Mrs. Silverdale and young Hassendean?"
Silverdale’s face paled slightly and his lips tightened as this blunt response to his offer fell on his ears. He seemed to consider his reply carefully.
"I suppose you mean: ‘Was she unfaithful to me with young Hassendean?’ Then my answer would be: ‘So far as my information goes, no.’ She flirted with the young cub certainly; and they behaved, to my mind, very injudiciously; but to the best of my knowledge it went no further than that. I’d have brought them up with a round turn if they’d given me cause."
"That’s your candid opinion?" the Inspector demanded. "You’re keeping back nothing?"
"Why, man, I’d have given . . ." Silverdale broke out. Then he stopped short in mid-sentence. "It’s my candid opinion, as you put it," he ended tamely.
Flamborough, it seemed, had extracted the information he wanted. He left the subject and took up a fresh one.
"Do you recall anything important which happened in the year 1925?"
"Yes, I left London and took up my post here."
"You were married in 1923, weren’t you?"
"Yes."
"Had your wife any relations in this country? She was French, wasn’t she?"
"She had a brother, Octave Renard, who was in business in London. Still is, as a matter of fact. An old aunt is the only other relation I know of."
"Before you left London, had you any difficulties with Mrs. Silverdale—I mean anything like young Hassendean?"
"Nothing that came to my notice," Silverdale answered, after consulting his memory.
"Can you recall any friend of yours or of hers who had the initial B? Either in the Christian name or the surname, I mean. It might be either a man or a woman."
This question evidently surprised Silverdale.
"The initial B?" he repeated. "No. I can’t recall anyone to fit that."
He seemed to be running over a list of people in his mind, but at the end of half-a-minute he shook his head decidedly.
"No. I can’t think of anyone with that initial."
Flamborough’s face betrayed his dissatisfaction. He had evidently built some hopes on getting the information.
"Now, another point, Dr. Silverdale. Have you any reason to suppose that Mrs. Silverdale was addicted to drugs?"
This time, Silverdale’s surprise at the question was quite unfeigned:
"Drugs? Of course not! Unless you count cocktails as drugs. What on earth put that into your mind?"
The Inspector rather shamefacedly abandoned this line of inquiry, and turned to something else.
"I’d like to hear anything you can tell me about young Hassendean, sir. He worked here in the Institute, didn’t he?"
"That depends a good deal on what precise meaning you attach to the word ‘work,’ Inspector. He certainly loafed about the premises, but he did as little as he could."
"Well," said Flamborough, impatiently, "can you tell me anything else about him? Everyone I’ve interviewed yet has told me he was idle. I’d rather have something more to the point."
Silverdale thought for a moment or two.
"He was a nuisance from the start. When he came here first—some three years ago—he spent his time hanging round one of the girl-assistants: Miss Hailsham. He interfered with her work, and I had to speak to him about it several times. Then she got engaged to him. Some time after, my wife took him up, and he broke off his engagement to Miss Hailsham—possibly to please my wife. I remember it made things rather unpleasant here when the engagement was broken, because Miss Hailsham took it rather badly. She’d every reason to do so, though she wasn’t losing much, it seemed to me."
Inspector Flamborough pricked up his ears at this information.
"Is this Miss Hailsham still an assistant here?" he asked.
"Yes," Silverdale explained. "She’s one of my private assistants. I have several girls who do routine work; but Miss Hailsham and Miss Deepcar—the girl who came in here a moment ago—are a shade better than the usual run."