All the time his trained faculties of an excellent investigator, who scorns no chance of information, followed the self-satisfied, disjointed loquacity of the constable.
"A fair-haired fellow," the last observed in a placid tone, and paused.
"The old woman who spoke to the sergeant noticed a fair-haired fellow coming out of Maze Hill Station." He paused.

"And he was a fair-haired fellow.

She noticed two men coming out of the station after the uptrain had gone on," he continued slowly.

"She couldn't tell if they were together.

She took no particular notice of the big one, but the other was a fair, slight chap, carrying a tin varnish can in one hand." The constable ceased.
"Know the woman ?" muttered the Chief Inspector, with his eyes fixed on the table, and a vague notion in his mind of an inquest to be held presently upon a person likely to remain for ever unknown.
"Yes.