"Then they were just beginning dinner when you left the place? What time was that, can you tell me?"
Markfield looked suspiciously at the Inspector.
"You’re trying to get me to say something that you want to use against—well, someone else, shall we say? I don’t care about it, frankly. But since you could get the information from the waiter who served them, there’s no harm done. I went to the Grosvenor at 6.35 or thereabouts. I was going down to the Research Station afterwards to pick up some notes, so I dined early that night. Silverdale and Miss Deepcar came in just as I was finishing dinner—that would be about a quarter past seven or thereby. I expect they were going on to some show afterwards."
"Was she in evening dress?"
"Ask me another. I never can tell whether a girl’s in evening dress or not, nowadays, with these new fashions."
Inspector Flamborough closed his notebook and took his leave, followed by Sir Clinton. When they reached the street again and had got into the waiting car, the Chief Constable turned to his subordinate.
"You collected a lot of interesting information that time."
"I noticed you left it all to me, sir; but I think I got one or two things worth having. It’s a bit disconnected; and it’ll take some thinking before it’s straightened out."
"What’s your main inference, as things stand?" Sir Clinton inquired.
"Well, sir, it’s a bit early yet. But I’ve been wondering about one thing, certainly."
"And that is?"
"And that is whether Peeping Tom’s name wasn’t Thomasina," Flamborough announced gravely.
"There are two sexes, of course," Sir Clinton admitted with equal gravity. "And inquisitiveness is supposed to be more strongly developed in the female than in the male. The next thing will be to consider whether Mr. Justice shouldn’t be rechristened Justitia. One ought to take all possibilities into account."
When Ronald Hassendean’s journal was found to consist of four bulky volumes of manuscript, Sir Clinton hastily disclaimed any desire to make its acquaintance in extenso and passed over to Inspector Flamborough the task of ploughing through it in detail and selecting those passages which seemed to have direct bearing on the case. The Inspector took the diary home with him and spent a laborious evening, lightened at times by flashes of cynical enjoyment when the writer laid bare certain aspects of his soul. Next day Flamborough presented himself at Sir Clinton’s office with the books under his arm; and the paper slips which he had used as markers made a formidable array as they projected from the edges of the volumes.
"Good Lord!" exclaimed the Chief Constable in consternation. "Do you mean to say I ought to read through about a hundred and fifty passages in inferior handwriting? Life’s too short for that. Take ’em away, Inspector, and get someone to write me a précis."
Flamborough’s lips opened into a broad smile under his toothbrush moustache.
"It’s not really so bad as it looks, sir," he explained. "The white slips were put in to mark anything that seemed to bear remotely on the business; but the passages directly relevant to the affair are indicated by red slips. I think you ought to glance through that last lot. There aren’t really very many of them."
He deposited the volumes on Sir Clinton’s desk so that the marking-tabs projected towards his superior. Sir Clinton eyed them without any enthusiasm.
"Well, I suppose duty calls, Inspector. I’ll go over them with you, just in case you want to give me any special points drawn from your general reading in the Works of Hassendean. If you’ve got a morbid craving for voluminous writers, you’d better start on the Faerie Queene. It, also, leads up to the death of a Blatant Beast."
"I read a bit of it at school, sir. I’m keeping the rest for a rainy day."
Sir Clinton again eyed the four stout volumes with unconcealed aversion. Quite obviously he was ready to catch at anything in order to postpone the examination of them, even now that he had decided to submit to the Inspector’s ruling.
"Before I start on this stuff, there are one or two points I want to get cleared up. First of all, did you get any reports in reply to our inquiries about young Hassendean’s car being seen on the roads that night?"
"No, sir. The only motor information we got was about one car that was stolen under cover of the fog. It’s being looked into. Oh, yes, and there was an inquiry for the name and address of the owner of a car. It seems somebody got hit by a motor and managed to take its number. I don’t think any real damage was done. It’s just one of these try-on cases."
"Something more important now. Did you find out from the man on the beat whether there was a light in Silverdale’s room at the Croft-Thornton on the night of the murders?"
"How did you come to think of that, sir? I didn’t mention it to you."
