“After a heavy drug?” Pointer's voice was sceptical. “And what about passers-by?” He picked up a bottle from the wash-stand labelled “The Cough Mixture.” It bore the name of a near-by chemist.
“I tasted that last night, sir. It's some I often take myself. It hasn't been tampered with in any way.” Watts' tone was as good as a respectful hint not to waste time in a blind alley.
Pointer scrutinised the bottle through his glass, and finally wrapped it up with special care, putting it in his black bag. He told Watts of the match which he had found in room two of the Marvel next door. Evidently Mr. Cox of Birmingham used the identical kind,—which was odd considering its foreign origin,—favoured by someone in room fourteen of the Enterprise.
“Mr. Beale spoke of having just come from France, didn't he, sir?”
“He did.”
“He may have forgotten that he had left his matches on the mantelpiece after lighting one to see into the wardrobe. Perhaps it was he who left the match you found in the Marvel. Anyone could get over that tiny railing between the two hotels.”
“Quite possible,” and Pointer wrapped the box, too, carefully up again, and locked his bag.
His next move was to interview the clerk of the Marvel as to the appearance and general behaviour of Mr. Cox. He learnt but little. Mr. Cox had arrived very late on Saturday night in a little two-seater which proclaimed itself as hired at a glance. He seemed a very quiet, unobtrusive young man, carried his own bag, and had barely attracted one glance from the booking-clerk, who only gleaned a general idea of a big young fellow with a pronounced limp, in a grey tweed suit and soft grey hat. He had driven his car away without asking any directions or making any inquiries as to a garage, and had returned shortly on foot. This would have been about one o'clock. His room had been waiting for him for nearly a week. On July 30th a 'phone call had asked whether any of the balcony rooms were free. There were two vacancies. The voice asked the numbers. They were two and seven. Number two was chosen, and the hotel was asked to keep the room for a Mr. Cox who would be there within the hour. This was about eleven o'clock in the morning. Half an hour later a messenger boy brought a letter for the manager, who passed it over to the book-keeper. In it Mr. Cox stated that he might be unable to occupy the room immediately, but wished No. 2 reserved for him. He enclosed four one-pound notes as a deposit. The Chief Inspector annexed the letter. When Mr. Cox finally arrived on Saturday, August 3rd, the room was still his, and when about four a.m. he descended, still with his bag, and walked out of the front door without saying a word, the hotel expected him to return for some sort of a belated breakfast. Up to the present hour he had not been seen again, but the day was still very young, as the clerk pointed out.
“Did you see in what direction he went?”
But nobody had taken sufficient interest to watch.