I found it wrapping one of my old riding boots, that I haven't worn
since I took to a sedentary life. Higgs must have picked it up at
our last move--"
"Do you want the date?" put in Otway. "If so, it was in January
last--January the 18th, to be exact."
"But--"
"I mean the date of the inquest. The paper would be next morning's--
Wednesday the 19th," Otway went on in a curious level voice, as
though spelling the information for them out of the lamplight on the
table.
Barham stared. "But--" he began again--"but _how_, sir?"
Polkinghorne, who also had stared for a moment, broke in with a
laugh. "The C.O. is pulling your leg, Sammy. He tore off the top of
your paper--it was lying around all this morning--noted the date and
thought he might safely make a pipe-spill."
"That won't do," retorted Barham, still searching Otway's face on
which there seemed to rest a double shadow. "For when I turned it
out of my valise this morning I carefully looked for the date--I'll
swear I did--and it was missing."
"Then you tore the thing in unpacking, and the C.
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