"No, I was quite alone."
Flamborough made another note; and then continued his interrogation.
"I want you to cast your mind back to the night when Mrs. Silverdale came by her death. I asked you once before what you were doing that night, but you put me off. I think you’d find it more advisable to be frank, now that I’m putting the question again."
Silverdale’s face showed some conflict of emotions, and he evidently considered the matter for almost a minute before answering.
"I’ve nothing further to add," he said at last.
"I’ll put it plainly, so that there can be no mistake," Flamborough emphasised. "Can you give us any account of your movements on the night that your maid was murdered at Heatherfield?"
Silverdale tightened his lips and shook his head.
"I’ve no information to give you," he said at length.
"I may as well tell you, Dr. Silverdale," said Flamborough warningly, "that we have a certain amount of information drawn from other sources. We may know more than you think. Wouldn’t it be best to be frank with us?"
Silverdale shook his head definitely without making any vocal reply. Flamborough concealed his disappointment, though his face grew darker. He put his hand into his waistcoat pocket and drew out something.
"Do you recognise that, Dr. Silverdale?"
Silverdale examined it.
"Yes, that’s a cigarette-holder of mine. I recognise it by the fly in it."
"When did you discover that you had lost it?"
Silverdale was obviously at a loss.
"I can’t tell you. Ten days ago or so, I should think."
"Was it before or after the murder of your maid that you missed it? Think carefully."
"I can’t remember," Silverdale explained. "I didn’t note it down in a diary or anything of that sort, of course. I use two or three holders. I leave them in the pockets of different suits. Naturally if one of them goes a-missing, I simply use one of the others; and perhaps the missing one may turn up later. I can’t give you any exact date when this one went astray."
Flamborough returned the holder to his pocket.
"You play the banjo, don’t you, Dr. Silverdale?"
Silverdale seemed completely astounded by this question.
"I used to do so," he admitted, "but I haven’t played for quite a long time. The banjo isn’t much in request nowadays."
"Have you bought strings for your instrument recently?"
"No. I haven’t. Last time I used it, two of the strings snapped, and I never troubled to replace them."
"Just so," Flamborough said, as though attaching no great importance to the point. "Now there’s another thing I’d like to ask about. I think that’s your laboratory coat hanging on the peg over there?"
Silverdale glanced across the room and nodded.
"When did you wear that coat last?" Flamborough demanded.
"Last night," Silverdale answered, after a slight hesitation.
"You mean you took it off when you left the Institute to go out to dinner?"
"Yes. This morning I’ve been up at the Research Station, so I’ve had no occasion to change my jacket."
Flamborough crossed the room, took down the coat, and spread it out on the table once more.
"Can you explain this? "he questioned, putting his hand on the tear.
Silverdale stared at the rent in the cloth with dismay gathering on his face. He looked like a man who finds himself surrounded by enemies in unknown strength.
"I can’t account for it," he said curtly, with whitened lips.
"Or for this blood-stain on it, I suppose?" Flamborough demanded, putting his finger on the spot.
Silverdale’s discomposure became even more obvious. It was clear that he felt himself in a most dangerous position; and his denials betrayed his nervousness.
"I’ve no idea how it came there. I noticed nothing of the sort when I took the coat off last night. Neither the tear nor that stain. I can’t account for it at all."
"You’re sure you can’t?" the Inspector persisted.
"I can’t," Silverdale repeated.
Much to the Inspector’s annoyance, Markfield broke into the interrogation.
"Why are you so sure that Dr. Silverdale has anything to do with the matter?" he interjected in a sardonic tone. "It’s not impossible that someone borrowed his jacket last night after he’d gone. Several of us were on the premises after he left, I know."
Flamborough, glancing up, surprised an expression on Sir Clinton’s face which indicated that his opinion of Markfield had risen on account of this interposition; and the Inspector felt his irritation against Markfield increasing once more.
"I’m not asking for your assistance now, Dr. Markfield," he pointed out, chillingly. "I want to know what Dr. Silverdale knows about the matter. You can hardly speak as an authority on that point, can you?"
Markfield made no reply; but his smile was a comment in itself and did nothing to soothe the Inspector’s ruffled feelings.
"I’ll have to take this coat, Dr. Silverdale," Flamborough explained in an official tone. "It’s a piece of evidence which we must have in our charge."
Then, as an afterthought, he added:
"A man Whalley has been murdered. The case didn’t get into the morning newspapers. You’ll see it in the evening news."
His voice took on a sub-tinge of warning:
"If you think the better of your attitude, you’d be well advised to come to us at once and tell us what you can. It’s hardly necessary to tell you that your silence on these points is bound to raise suspicions; and if you can clear things up, you may save yourself a good deal of trouble."
Markfield seemed to take a cynical pleasure in destroying the Inspector’s effects. Instead of leaving him the last word, he closed the interview himself.
"They used to say a man was innocent until he was proved guilty, Inspector," he remarked ironically, "but I see you’ve interchanged the adjectives nowadays. It must save a lot of trouble to the police."
Chapter Fifteen. SIR CLINTON’S DOUBLE
Two days after the interview with Markfield and his colleague at the Croft-Thornton Institute, Inspector Flamborough came into Sir Clinton’s office, obviously in a state of faint trepidation.
"I’ve arrested Silverdale this morning, sir," he announced in a voice which betrayed that he was not quite sure whether this step would meet his superior’s approval.
The Chief Constable exhibited neither surprise nor disapproval at the news.
"I shouldn’t care to say that you’ve got a complete case against him, Inspector. Not yet, at any rate. But he’s got himself to thank for his troubles; and now I expect things will begin to move a bit quicker in the case. Mr. Justice will be calling up his last reserves."
Flamborough seemed to feel that his action needed some justification, though Sir Clinton had asked for none.
"Well, sir, it seems to me we had to forestall a possible bolt on Silverdale’s part. There’s quite enough evidence to justify his detention on suspicion in the meantime."
"There’s just one point I’d like to know about," Sir Clinton said, disregarding the Inspector’s statement. "You’ve got four deaths to choose from. Which of them are you going to select as your main case? You can hardly put him on trial for all four simultaneously. There’s nothing against it legally, but you’d confuse the jury, I’m afraid."
"I thought the bungalow business would be best, sir. There’s a fair chance of establishing a motive in it; whereas in the Heatherfield affair there’s only conjecture as to what he was after; and in the Whalley case we simply haven’t got enough evidence apart from the jacket, unless we can prove that Silverdale was the bungalow murderer. And if we can prove that, then there’s no need to enter into the Whalley case at all."