Anyway I wanted to make sure that the dead man from Hanover
Hole and your mysterious cabman were not one and the same."
Stuart entertained a lively suspicion that Inspector Dunbar was keeping
something up his sleeve, but with this very proper reticence he had no
quarrel, and followed by the constable, who relocked the mortuary
behind them, they came out into the yard where the cab waited which
was to take them to Scotland Yard. Dunbar, standing with one foot upon
the step of the cab, turned to the constable.
"Has anyone else viewed the body?" he asked.
"No sir."
"No one is to be allowed to do so--you understand?--_no one_, unless
he has written permission from the Commissioner."
"Very good, sir."
Half an hour later they arrived at New Scotland Yard and went up to
Dunbar's room. A thick-set, florid man of genial appearance, having a
dark moustache, a breezy manner and a head of hair resembling a very
hard-worked blacking-brush, awaited them. This was Detective-Sargeant
Sowerby with whom Stuart was already acquainted.
"Good-morning, Sergeant Sowerby," he said.
"Good-morning, sir. I hear that someone was pulling your leg last
night."
"What do you mean exactly, Sowerby?" inquired Dunbar, fixing his
fierce eyes upon his subordinate.
Sergeant Sowerby exhibited confusion.
"I mean nothing offensive, Inspector. I was referring to the
joker who gave so good an imitation of my voice that even
_you_ were deceived.
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