"Precisely," said Furneaux, with a voice that at last had a quiver in it. "If any fact is clear in a maze of doubt, that, at least, is established beyond cavil. And Mrs. Bates's other name--I--forget it?"
"She is taking a holiday to-day. She was dreadfully upset."
He held out his hand a second time, quite affably. Hylda Prout followed him out to the library and, when the street door had closed behind him, peeped through the curtains at his alert, natty figure as he hastened away.
Furneaux took a motor-bus to Whitehall, and, what was very odd, the 'bus carried him beyond his destination, over Westminster Bridge, indeed, he was so lost in meditation.
His object now was to see Winter and fling at his chief's head some of the amazing things he had just learned.
But when he arrived at Scotland Yard, Winter was not there. At that moment, in fact, Winter was at Osborne's house in Mayfair, whither he had rushed to meet Furneaux in order to whisper to Furneaux without a moment's delay some news just gleaned by the merest chance--the news that Pauline Dessaulx, Rose de Bercy's maid, had quarreled with her mistress on the morning of the murder, and had been given notice to quit Miss de Bercy's service.
When Winter arrived at Osborne's house Furneaux, of course, was gone. To his question at the door, "Is Mr. Furneaux here?" the parlor-maid answered: "I am not sure, sir--I'll see."
"Perhaps you don't know Mr. Furneaux," said Winter, "a small-built gentleman----"
"Oh, yes, sir, I know him," the girl answered. "I let him in this morning, as well as when he called some days ago."
No words in the English tongue could have more astonished Winter, for Furneaux had not mentioned to him that he had even been to Osborne's. What Furneaux could have been doing there "some days ago" was beyond his guessing. Before his wonderment could get out another question, the girl was leading the way towards the library.
In the library were Miss Prout, writing, and Jenkins handing her a letter.
"I came to see if Inspector Furneaux was here," Winter said; "but evidently he has gone."
"Only about three minutes," said Hylda Prout, throwing a quick look round at him.
"Thanks--I am sorry to have troubled you," he said. Then he added, to Jenkins: "Much obliged for the cigars!"