Winter looked anxious. Both he and his colleague knew well when to drop
the good-natured banter they delighted in. They were face to face now
with issues of life and death, dark and sinister conditions which had
already destroyed one life, threatened another, and might envisage
further horrors. Small wonder, then, if the Chief Inspector's usually
cheerful face was clouded, or that his hopes should be somewhat dashed
when Furneaux seemed to lack the abounding confidence which was his most
marked characteristic.
"You've got something, I see," he said, trying to speak encouragingly,
and glancing at the bundle of clothing which Furneaux had wrapped in a
newspaper before dropping from the bedroom window of Siddle's house.
"Yes, a lot. What to make of it is the puzzle. We either go ahead on the
flimsiest of evidence or I carry out another housebreaking job this
afternoon and restore things in status quo. First, the bundle--an old
covert-coating overcoat and a pair of frayed trousers which probably
draped Owd Ben's ghost. They've been soaked in turpentine, which, chemist
or no chemist, is still the best agent for removing stains. We'll put 'em
under the glass after we've examined the book.
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