“Fanshawe!” he said aloud.

“Eh?” said the surgeon, spilling his cigarette ash on the carpet.

“He was released from Maidstone the other day, wasn’t he?”

“Thursday.”

“Fanshawe out and Ballantine dead,” mused Tapper. “Quite a coincidence, you might say. Wasn’t Ballantine supposed to have been mixed up in the Fanshawe bank fraud?”

But the surgeon’s interest in the subject seemed to have been already exhausted. Tapper sighed and turned to the football forecasts.

7
INSPECTOR MALLETT

Monday, November 16th

Lewis and Harper, their work above stairs completed, descended to a ground floor that seemed suddenly to have become crowded with people. Heavy police boots tramped in the hall, and through the smoking-room door they could see the sudden flash of magnesium as photographers recorded the appearance of the room and its occupant. Scotland Yard had taken possession.

Sergeant Tapper met them at the foot of the stairs.

“The inspector wants a word with you,” he said.

Inspector Mallett was a tall, stout man, whose bulk, as he stood four-square in the middle of the carpet, seemed to make the small room still smaller. From a rosy, round face looked out bland blue eyes, the mild expression of which contrasted oddly with his fierce military moustache. He favoured the two young men with a quiet, appraising stare as they entered.

“These are the two men who——” began Tapper.

“Yes,” said Mallett. He turned at once to Harper. “Have you finished with your inventory?” he asked.

“Yes,” answered Harper. “Every room except this one, of course.”

“Then just run your eye over this room, and tell me if anything has been taken.”

Harper began to go through the list, checking it off with the objects in the room. Not for the world would he, in this room, and in the presence of all these strangers, acknowledge the need of Lewis’s help. Lewis, on his part, was equally determined to see that the job was done thoroughly, and to Harper’s extreme annoyance, took up a position at his elbow, where he could look over the inventory and correct what was being done. As quickly as possible Harper completed the work, a desire to be out of the room and to be away from his companion spurring him on.

“There’s nothing missing,” he announced.

“Yes, there is,” said the odious Lewis in the same breath. “The blind-cord has gone.”

Harper could not avoid showing his annoyance at his own lapse and his contempt for the other’s uncalled-for nicety; but the inspector smiled grimly.

“Is this it, do you think?” he asked, pointing to the dead man.