Armadale's face showed that he thought he was being over-driven. “Well, sir,” he protested, “I really haven't had much time.” “I wasn't blaming you, inspector. It was a mere inquiry—not a criticism.” Armadale's face cleared. “I've been to the sweet-shop, sir. Peter Hay hadn't bought pear-drops there for a long while. In fact, they haven't any in stock just now.” “That's interesting, isn't it?” “Yes, sir. And Dr. Rafford says that undoubtedly the body contains amyl nitrite. He seemed a bit taken aback when I put it to him. I don't think he'd spotted it off his own bat. But when I suggested it, he did some tests and found the stuff.” Sir Clinton rose to his feet as though to indicate that business was over. Armadale busied himself with the repacking of his bag. When he had finished, he moved over towards the door and began to unlock it. Before he got it open, Sir Clinton added a final remark. “Don't you think it's a bit curious, inspector, that the Fordingbridge family should be mixed up, directly or indirectly, in these two affairs? Think it over, will you?” Chapter IX The Second Cartridge-Case The chief constable had a fresh task on his hands as soon as Armadale took his leave. It seemed to him essential to get the body of the dead man identified by someone in addition to the group at Flatt's cottage. Stanley Fleetwood was unable to move, even if he had wished to do so; and Sir Clinton had no particular desire to confront Cressida with her late husband's corpse. Paul Fordingbridge had known Staveley well; and it was to him that the chief constable turned in this difficulty. To his relief, Paul Fordingbridge showed no annoyance at the state of affairs. He consented at once to go with the chief constable to inspect the body and give his evidence as to its identity. Wendover accompanied them in the car; and in Lynden Sands village the formalities were soon over. Fordingbridge had no hesitation in the matter; he recognised Staveley at the first glance. Until they were clear of the village again, Sir Clinton made no attempt to extract any further information; but when the car crossed the neck at Flatt's cottage and was running beside the bay, he slowed down and turned to Fordingbridge. “There's a point you might be able to throw light on, Mr. Fordingbridge,” he said tentatively. “Quite obviously, Staveley was supposed to have been killed in the war. Could you give me any information about his earlier history? You came in contact with him at times, I understand.” Paul Fordingbridge seemed in no way put out by the request.