Or so at all events young Jolyon seemed to see them, lying around
Bosinney's body.
He asked the Inspector to tell him what had happened, and the latter,
like a man who does not every day get such a chance, again detailed such
facts as were known.
"There's more here, sir, however," he said, "than meets the eye. I don't
believe in suicide, nor in pure accident, myself. It's more likely I
think that he was suffering under great stress of mind, and took no
notice of things about him. Perhaps you can throw some light on these."
He took from his pocket a little packet and laid it on the table.
Carefully undoing it, he revealed a lady's handkerchief, pinned through
the folds with a pin of discoloured Venetian gold, the stone of which
had fallen from the socket. A scent of dried violets rose to young
Jolyon's nostrils.
"Found in his breast pocket," said the Inspector; "the name has been cut
away!"
Young Jolyon with difficulty answered: "I'm afraid I cannot help you!"
But vividly there rose before him the face he had seen light up, so
tremulous and glad, at Bosinney's coming! Of her he thought more than
of his own daughter, more than of them all--of her with the dark, soft
glance, the delicate passive face, waiting for the dead man, waiting
even at that moment, perhaps, still and patient in the sunlight.
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