Roger Sheringham and the Vane Mystery by Anthony Berkeley Page A

there are one or two more things I shall want to ask you. Could you meet us here at say half past ten tomorrow morning for more cross-examination, do you think?”
    “Of course, Mr Sheringham. I shall be only too pleased. And you will try to – to –”
    “To throw a little fresh light on that hour and a half?” Roger suggested as he shook hands. “I promise you I will. That’s the crux of the whole thing, isn’t it? I’ll do all I can, Miss Cross, you can be sure.”
    They climbed the little bank and Anthony, by a curious lapse of memory, appeared to forget that he had already shaken hands on the lower level; at any rate he did so again, even more warmly than before.
    “It’s a nasty business,” Roger remarked as the two of them set out on their walk back to the inn. “Nastier than I let out. I didn’t tell the little lady that the other person with Mrs Vane was a woman, by the way.”
    “Was she?” said Anthony gloomily. “Hell!”
    “Yes, I’ll tell you what I managed to find out down there. Not much, but decidedly interesting. Mrs Vane must have... By jove, I was forgetting!”
    “What?”
    “Something I picked up near where the body was found – a bit of writing paper. I haven’t been able to look at it yet. It may be nothing, but on the other hand it may be something uncommonly important. Anyhow, let’s have a look at it.” And digging into his breast pocket, Roger drew out his handkerchief and its precious contents.
    “Looks a bit sodden,” Anthony remarked, as the little ball of bluish-grey paper emerged from its covering.
    “Naturally, as it’s been in the water off and on for sixty odd hours or so,” said Roger, straightening out the sodden little tangle with infinite care. It was a ticklish business, for the least false move would tear the flimsy stuff and it had to be unwrapped half an inch at a time.
    “Can you make anything out?” Anthony asked eagerly, as the sheet was at last laid out flat on the palm of Roger’s hand.
    “It’s a bit of ordinary notepaper,” Roger murmured, peering down at it intently. “Good quality. Watermark a big crown and some kind of inscription. Ought to be easy enough to trace.”
    “Yes, but is there any writing on it?”
    “There has been, but that’s about as much as one can say. See these faint pen-marks? But I should think it’s pretty well impossible to make out what was written on it.”
    “Then it’s no use?” Anthony asked disappointedly.
    “I wouldn’t say that. An expert might be able to make them out. I suppose there are ways of testing this sort of thing. We’ll see, anyhow. But we mustn’t build any hopes on it. Ten to one it had nothing to do with Mrs Vane at all, and even if it did it’s another ten to one that it had nothing to do with what we’re after. However, we’ll take it back and see if it’s possible to do anything with it.”
    Roger took off his hat and laid the paper carefully inside to shield it from the wind, and they resumed their journey.
    “What did you think of Miss Cross?” Anthony asked very airily, gazing at the easy feats of a neighbouring gull with an appearance of intense interest.
    “Oh, all right,” Roger said with malicious indifference. “Perfectly ordinary sort of girl, I thought, didn’t you?”
    “Personally, she struck me as being rather an exceptional one,” Anthony said coldly.
    “Did she? Ah, well! Bit long in the nose, wasn’t she?”
    “Long in the nose!” exclaimed the indignant Anthony. “Why, her nose is absolutely –” He caught sight of Roger’s grin and broke off abruptly. “Damn you!” he growled, flushing vividly.
    “Ah, you young people!” Roger continued to grin. “Ah, youth, happy youth! Ah –”
    “Roger, you ass, be serious for a minute. Do you think that girl’s in any danger?”
    “I do indeed,” Roger said with a quick change to gravity. “At least, I don’t know about danger, but I certainly think she’s in a very awkward position.