THE TUNISIAN DAGGER
I met the inspector just coming from the door which led into the kitchen quarters.
"How's the young lady, doctor?"
"Coming round nicely. Her mother's with her."
"That's good. I've been questioning the servants. They all declare that no one has been to the back door tonight. Your description of that stranger was rather vague. Can't you give us something more definite to go upon?"
"I'm afraid not," I said regretfully. "It was a dark night, you see, and the fellow had his coat collar well pulled up and his hat squashed down over his eyes."
"H'm," said the inspector. "Looked as though he wanted to conceal his face. Sure it was no one you know?"
I replied in the negative, but not as decidedly as I might have done. I remembered my impression that the stranger's voice was not unfamiliar to me. I explained this rather haltingly to the inspector.
"It was a rough, uneducated voice, you say?"
I agreed, but it occurred to me that the roughness had been of an almost exaggerated quality. If, as the inspector thought, the man had wished to hide his face, he might equally well have tried to disguise his voice.
[65]
