“I’ll bear that in mind, sir,” said Detective-Inspector Craddock in his most formal manner, and nobody would have guessed that Dermot Eric Craddock was actually Sir Henry’s godson and was on easy and intimate terms with his godfather.

Rydesdale gave a quick outline of the case to his friend.

“They’d all turn up at 6:30, I grant you that,” he said. “But would that Swiss fellow know they would? And another thing, would they be likely to have much loot on them to be worth the taking?”

“A couple of old-fashioned brooches, a string of seed pearls—a little loose change, perhaps a note or two—not more,” said Sir Henry, thoughtfully. “Did this Miss Blacklock keep much money in the house?”

“She says not, sir. Five pounds odd, I understand.”

“Mere chicken feed,” said Rydesdale.

“What you’re getting at,” said Sir Henry, “is that this fellow liked to playact—it wasn’t the loot, it was the fun of playing and acting the hold-up. Cinema stuff? Eh? It’s quite possible. How did he manage to shoot himself?”

Rydesdale drew a paper towards him.

“Preliminary medical report. The revolver was discharged at close range—singeing … h’m … nothing to show whether accident or suicide. Could have been done deliberately, or he could have tripped and fallen and the revolver which he was holding close to him could have gone off … Probably the latter.” He looked at Craddock. “You’ll have to question the witnesses very carefully and make them say exactly what they saw.”

Detective-Inspector Craddock said sadly: “They’ll all have seen something different.”

“It’s always interested me,” said Sir Henry, “what people do see at a moment of intense excitement and nervous strain. What they do see and, even more interesting, what they don’t see.”

“Where’s the report on the revolver?”

“Foreign make—(fairly common on the Continent)—Scherz did not hold a permit for it—and did not declare it on coming into England.”

“Bad lad,” said Sir Henry.

“Unsatisfactory character all round. Well, Craddock, go and see what you can find out about him at the Royal Spa Hotel.”

II

At the Royal Spa Hotel, Inspector Craddock was taken straight to the Manager’s office.

The Manager, Mr. Rowlandson, a tall florid man with a hearty manner, greeted Inspector Craddock with expansive geniality.

“Glad to help you in any way we can, Inspector,” he said. “Really a most surprising business. I’d never have credited it—never. Scherz seemed a very ordinary, pleasant young chap—not at all my idea of a hold-up man.”

“How long has he been with you, Mr. Rowlandson?”

“I was looking that up just before you came. A little over three months. Quite good credentials, the usual permits, etc.”

“And you found him satisfactory?”

Without seeming to do so, Craddock marked the infinitesimal pause before Rowlandson replied.

“Quite satisfactory.”

Craddock made use of a technique he had found efficacious before now.

“No, no, Mr. Rowlandson,” he said, gently shaking his head. “That’s not really quite the case, is it?”

“We-ll—” The Manager seemed slightly taken aback.