A second slip of
cardboard appeared between his fingers as he stepped over toward Maitland.
"If I had not feared it might deprive me of this interview, I should have
sent in my business card at once," he said. "Permit me."
Maitland accepted the card and elevated his brows. "Oh!" he said, putting
it down, his manner becoming perceptibly less cordial. "I say, O'Hagan."
"Yessor?"
"I shall be busy for--Will half an hour satisfy you, Mr. Snaith?"
"You are most kind," the stranger bowed.
"In half an hour, O'Hagan, you may return."
"Very good, sor." And the hall door closed.
"So," said Maitland, turning to face the man squarely, "you are from Police
Headquarters?"
"As you see." Mr. Snaith motioned delicately toward his business card--as
he called it.
"Well?"--after a moment's pause.
"I am a detective, you understand."
"Perfectly," Maitland assented, unmoved.
His caller seemed partly amused, partly--but very slightly--embarrassed.
"I have been assigned to cover the affair of last night," he continued
blandly. "I presume you have no objection to giving me what information you
may possess."
"Credentials?"
The man's amusement was made visible in a fugitive smile, half-hidden by
his small and neatly trimmed mustache. Mutely eloquent, he turned back
the lapel of his coat, exposing a small shield; at which Maitland glanced
casually.
"Very well," he consented, bored but resigned. "Fire ahead, but make it as
brief as you can; I've an engagement in"--glancing at the clock--"an hour,
and must dress.
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