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Updated: May 5, 2025
"You took care to leave no finger-prints," said Inspector Chippenfield. "We used a handkerchief to wrap our hands in," said Hill. "Birchill got tired of passing the paper from one to another and wrote all his letters, leaving spaces for the girl and me to write in ours. When the letter was written we wrote the address on the envelope the same way, and stamped it.
Crewe, after carefully reading his summary of the murder of Sir Horace Fewbanks, and making a few alterations in the text, drew from his pocket the glove which Inspector Chippenfield had handed him as a clue, took it to the window, and carefully examined it through a large magnifying glass. He was thus engrossed when the door was noiselessly opened, and Stork, the bodyguard, entered.
Justice Hodson, the distinguished judge inclined his head to what was almost a nod of recognition, but the prisoner looked calmly at the judge as though he had never seen him before and had never been inside a court in his life till then. Among those persons standing in the body of the court were Crewe and Inspector Chippenfield and Detective Rolfe.
Rolfe departed, to do his chief's bidding, a little crestfallen. He was at first inclined to think that he had made a bit of a fool of himself in his desire to prove to Inspector Chippenfield that he had been hoodwinked by Hill into arresting Birchill.
While stooping over his victim with the handkerchief still in his hand, the dying man made a convulsive movement and caught hold of a corner of the handkerchief, which was torn off." Inspector Chippenfield looked across at his subordinate with a smile of triumphant superiority. "Yes," said Rolfe meditatively. "There is nothing wrong about that as far as I can see.
Then I went out and posted the letter in a pillar-box." "At Covent Garden?" suggested Inspector Chippenfield. "Yes, at Covent Garden," said Hill. "When I got home my wife was awake and in a terrible fright. She wanted to know where I'd been, but I didn't tell her.
Instead of telephoning, she went to Riversbrook direct, and when she found you were not there she was admitted to the presence of my old friend, Inspector Chippenfield. He is an excellent police officer, but I do not think he is a match for a clever woman. And Mrs.
Holymead was a fine-looking woman, and he had no doubt that Inspector Chippenfield's readiness to see her was due to the impression this information had made on his unofficial feelings. Mrs. Holymead was conducted upstairs and announced by the butler. Inspector Chippenfield greeted her with a low bow of conscious inferiority, and anticipated Hill in placing a chair for her.
"You did the right thing," said Inspector Chippenfield, with the emphasis of a man who had profited by the triumph of right. Mr. Evans was under the impression that the inspector's approval referred chiefly to the part he had played as a husband in talking over his perplexity with his wife, rather than the part he had played as a man in revealing that Hill had lied in his evidence.
"Don't you think the murderer will bolt out of the country when he knows his mate is prepared to turn King's evidence against him?" "Ah," said Inspector Chippenfield, "I haven't adopted your theory." "Then you think that the man who wrote this note knew of the murder but doesn't know who did it?" "Now you are going too far," said Inspector Chippenfield.
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