Markfield seemed about to repeat his demand for information when steps sounded in the corridor outside. Flamborough picked up the coat, moved swiftly across the room, and hung the garment on its original peg. As he turned away unconcernedly from the spot, the door opened and Silverdale entered the laboratory. He seemed taken aback by the presence of the police and looked from one to another in the group without speaking. Then he came forward.
"Do you want me?" he asked, in a colourless voice.
Markfield seemed rather ashamed at being caught there in the company of the two officials. He was about to say something when Flamborough robbed him of the opportunity.
"I’ve come to put one or two questions, Dr. Silverdale," the Inspector began. "First of all, have you had any dealings lately with a man named Peter Whalley?"
Silverdale was obviously taken aback.
"Whalley?" he repeated. "I know nothing about anyone of that name. Who is he?"
Flamborough seemed to discount this statement, but he did not persist along that direct line.
"Can you tell us what you were doing last night?" he demanded.
Silverdale reflected for a time before answering.
"I left here about six o’clock—between six and six-thirty. Then I walked down to the Central Hotel and had dinner. I suppose I left the hotel again about a quarter to eight. I walked home, as it was a clear night; and I did some work until about half-past eleven. After that I went to bed and read for a while before going to sleep."
Flamborough jotted something in his notebook before going further.
"I suppose you could produce some witnesses in support of that?" he asked.
Silverdale appeared to consult his memory.
"I met Miss Hailsham as I was leaving here," he explained. "That would give you the approximate time, if she remembers it. The waiter at the Central could probably satisfy you that I was there—it’s the tall one with the wart on his cheek who looks after the tables at the north window. After that, you’ll have to take my word for it."
"What about your maids at Heatherfield?"
"I haven’t anyone on the premises. No maid would take the place owing to the murder. I merely sleep there and take my meals at an hotel. A charwoman comes in during the day and cleans the place."
"Ah," said the Inspector, thoughtfully. "Then you can’t prove that you were actually at home after, say, half-past eight? By the way, you hadn’t a visitor by any chance?"
Silverdale shook his head.
"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."
