“And in the same way, greengrocers know all about vegetables, and fishermen about fish. Detectives, professional detectives, must know all about criminals. They know the real thing when they see it—and they know when it isn’t the real thing. Marriot’s expert knowledge tells him that Captain Hale isn’t a criminal—but all the facts are dead against him. As a last resource Marriot is egging us on, hoping against hope that some little detail or other will come back to us—something that happened last night—which will throw a different light on things. Tommy, why shouldn’t it be suicide, after all?”
“Remember what she said to you.”
“I know—but take that a different way. It was Bingo’s doing—his conduct that drove her to kill herself. It’s just possible.”
“Just. But it doesn’t explain that fragment of newspaper.”
“Let’s have a look at Marriot’s photographs. I forgot to ask him what Hale’s account of the matter was.”
“I asked him that in the hall just now. Hale declared he had never spoken to Lady Merivale at the show. Says somebody shoved a note into his hand which said: ‘Don’t try and speak to me tonight. Arthur suspects.’ He couldn’t produce the piece of paper, though, and it doesn’t sound a very likely story. Anyway, you and I know he was with her at the Ace of Spades because we saw him.”
Tuppence nodded and pored over the two photographs. One was a tiny fragment with the legend Daily Le —and the rest torn off. The other was the front sheet of the Daily Leader with the small round tear at the top of it. There was no doubt about it. The two fitted together perfectly.
“What are all those marks down the side?” asked Tommy.
“Stitches,” said Tuppence. “Where it was sewn to the others, you know.”