Ellery permitted them to examine the bathroom before him. Miss Ickthorpe’s hands flew over the objects on the rim of the washbowl. There was a pigskin toilet-kit, open, draped over the marble; an uncleansed razor; a still damp shaving-brush; a tube of shaving cream; a small can of talcum; and a tube of tooth paste. To one side lay a celluloid shaving-brush container, its cap on the open kit.

“Can’t see a thing of interest here,” said Burrows frankly. “You, Walter?”

Crane shook his head. “Except that he must have just finished shaving before he was murdered, not a thing.”

Miss Ickthorpe wore a stern and faintly exultant look. “That’s because, like all men, you’re blinder’n bats. . . . I’ve seen enough.”

They trooped by Ellery, rejoining the Inspector, who was talking with some one in the bedroom. Ellery chuckled to himself. He lifted the lid of a clothes-hamper; it was empty. Then he picked up the cap of the shaving-brush container. The cap came apart in his fingers, and he saw that a small circular pad fitted snugly inside. He chuckled again, cast a derisive glance at the triumphant back of the heroic Miss Ickthorpe outside, replaced cap and tube, and went back into the bedroom.

He found Williams, the hotel manager, accompanied by a policeman, talking heatedly to the Inspector. “We can’t keep this up forever, Inspector Queen,” Williams was saying. “Our guests are beginning to complain. The night-shift is due to go on soon, I’ve got to go home myself, and you’re making us stay here all night, by George. After all—”

The old man said: “Psih!” and cocked an inquiring eye at his son. Ellery nodded. “Can’t see any reason for not lifting the ban, dad. We’ve learned as much as we can. . . . You young people!” Three pairs of eager eyes focused on him; they were like three puppies on a leash. “Have you seen enough?” They nodded solemnly. “Anything else you want to know?”

Burrows said quickly: “I want a certain address.”

Miss Ickthorpe paled. “Why, so do I! John, you mean thing!”

And Crane muttered, clutching Spargo’s watch in his fist: “I want something, too—but I’ll find it out right in this hotel!”

Ellery smoothed away a smile, shrugged, and said: “See Sergeant Velie downstairs—that Colossus we met at the door. He’ll tell you anything you may want to know.

“Now, follow instructions. It’s evident that the three of you have definite theories. I’ll give you two hours in which to formulate them and pursue any investigations you may have in mind.” He consulted his watch. “At 6:30, meet me at my apartment on West Eighty-seventh Street, and I’ll try to rip your theories apart. . . . Happy hunting!”

He grinned dismissal. They scrambled for the door, Miss Ickthorpe’s turban slightly awry, her elbows working vigorously to clear the way.