"These unimportant things, father, are sometimes the most important of all," she said. "Jim's right. It's odd no witnesses can be found."
As if there had been something prophetic in her words and her attitude, a muffled knock came from the outer door.
"Why doesn't he ring?" the inspector growled. "You haven't had the bell disconnected, Nora? Good Lord! Am I as sick as that?"
Nora, a trifle bewildered, moved towards the door. "Queer! And I think there are two in the hall."
Garth, as he always did, marveled at her acute perception. For, although he had heard no footsteps, no voices, two men followed Nora into the living room. The one in advance was young, with a frightened and apprehensive face. His companion was older and portlier, with narrow eyes and full-blooded cheeks. And those eyes were uneasy. For Garth they did not quite veil a sense of sheer terror. With a growing discomfort he guessed the cause of this visit.
Nora's voice betrayed none of the amazement Garth knew she felt.
"It's Mr. Alsop, father," she said—"Mr. Addington Alsop."
The inspector had already struggled to rise. He conceded the importance of this unexpected call. He apologized for his failure.
"Nora's got me wound up like a mummy—"
Alsop broke in rapidly.
