"I’ve been expecting you, Inspector Flamborough," he said, as soon as he realised who his visitors were. "This has been a dreadful business last night. It was a bolt from the blue to me when I got home this morning."
He paused, and looked inquiringly at the Inspector.
"Have you any notion why that unfortunate maid of mine was murdered? It’s a complete mystery to me. A dreadful business."
Flamborough exchanged a glance with the Chief Constable. As Silverdale had ignored his wife’s death, it seemed to the Inspector that the news of it might be broken to him later, when the other case had been dealt with. Silverdale, of course, could hardly have picked up any hint about the affairs at the bungalow, since a knowledge of them was still confined to the police and Dr. Ringwood.
"We’re rather at a loss at present," Flamborough admitted frankly. "As things stand, it looks rather like a case of a detected burglar who killed the woman when she disturbed him at his work. Had you any stock of valuables on your premises which might have attracted gentry of that sort?"
Silverdale shook his head.
"My wife had a certain amount of jewellery, but I don’t think any burglar would have found it worth while to go the length of murder for the sake of it."
"Where did Mrs. Silverdale keep her jewellery?"
"I rather think it’s kept in one of the drawers of an old chest-of-drawers in her room—the drawer that the man broke into. But she may have other things elsewhere. We had different rooms, you know; and I never troubled to find out where she put things in her own room."
"I suppose you couldn’t give us a list of your wife’s jewellery?"
"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 girl: 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.
