Markfield listened to this question with obvious amazement.
"Drugs? No. She’d never touch drugs. Who’s been putting that lie around?"
Flamborough tactfully disregarded this question.
"Then from what you know of her, you would say that suicide would be improbable in her case?"
"Quite, I should say."
"She had no worries that you know of, no domestic troubles, for instance?"
Markfield’s eyes narrowed slightly at the question.
"Hardly my business to discuss another man’s affairs, is it?" he demanded, obviously annoyed by the Inspector’s query. "I don’t think I’m called upon to repeat the tittle-tattle of the town."
"You mean you don’t know anything personally?"
"I mean I’m not inclined to gossip about the domestic affairs of a colleague. If you’re so keen on them, you can go and ask him direct."
It was quite evident that Markfield had strong views on the subject of what he called "tittle-tattle"; and the Inspector realised that nothing would be gained by pursuing the matter. At the same time, he was amused to see that Markfield, by his loyalty to his colleague, had betrayed the very thing which he was trying to conceal. It was obvious that things had not gone smoothly in the Silverdale household, or Markfield would have had no reason for burking the question.
"You mentioned young Hassendean’s name," Flamborough continued. "You know that he’s been murdered, of course?"
"I saw it in the paper this morning. He’s no great loss," Markfield said brutally. "We had him here in the Institute, and a more useless pup you’d be hard put to it to find."
"What sort of person was he?" the Inspector inquired.
"One of these bumptious brats who think they ought to have everything they want, just for the asking. He’d a very bad swelled head. Herring-gutted, too, I should judge. He used to bore me with a lot of romantic drivel until I sat on him hard once or twice. I couldn’t stand him."
It was evident that young Hassendean had rasped Markfield’s nerves badly.
"Had anyone a grudge against him, do you think?"
"I shouldn’t be surprised, knowing him as I did. He would have put a saint’s back up with his bounce and impertinence. But if you mean a grudge big enough to lead to murder, I can’t say. I saw as little of him as possible even in working hours, and I had no interest in his private affairs."
It was quite evident that nothing of real value was to be elicited along this line. The Inspector abandoned the subject of young Hassendean’s personality and turned to a fresh field.
"Young Hassendean smoked cigarettes, didn’t he?"
"I’ve seen him smoking them."
"Is this his holder, by any chance?"
Flamborough produced the fly-in-amber holder as he spoke and laid it on the table. As he did so, he glanced at Markfield’s face and was surprised to see the swift change of expression on it. A flash of amazement followed by something that looked like dismay, crossed his features; then, almost instantaneously, he composed himself, and only a faint trace of misgiving showed in his eyes.
"No, that isn’t young Hassendean’s holder," he answered.
"You recognise it?"
Markfield bent forward to inspect the article, but it was evident that he knew it well.
"Do I need to answer these questions of yours?" he demanded, uncomfortably.
"You’ll have that question put to you at the inquest, when you’re on your oath," said the Inspector sharply. "You may as well answer now and save trouble."
Markfield stared for a moment longer at the fly in the amber.
"Where did you pick this thing up?" he demanded, without answering the Inspector’s question.
But Flamborough saw that he had got on the track of something definite at last, and was not inclined to be put off.
"That’s our business, sir," he said brusquely. "You recognise the thing, obviously. Whose is it? It’s no use trying to shield anyone. The thing’s too conspicuous; and if you don’t tell us about it, someone else will. But it doesn’t look well to find you trying to throw dust in our eyes."
Markfield could not help seeing that the Inspector attached special importance to the holder; and he evidently recognised that further shuffling was out of the question.
"I’m not going to identify it for you," he said. "You’ve let slip that it’s an important clue; and I don’t know it well enough to make assertions about it. I’ll send for a man now who’ll be able to swear definitely, one way or another. That’s all I see my way to do for you."
He put his hand on a bell-push and they waited in silence until a boy came in answer to the summons.
"Send Gilling to me at once," Markfield ordered.
Then, when the boy had withdrawn, he turned to the two officials again.
"Gilling is our head mechanic. You can question him about it. He’s an intelligent man."
In a few minutes the mechanic appeared at the door.
"You wanted me, sir?" he asked.
Markfield introduced the Inspector with a gesture, and Flamborough put his questions.
"You’ve seen this thing before?"
The mechanic came forward to the table and examined the holder carefully.
"Yes, sir. I made it myself."
