“Come, come, I don't bite, you know. Then did you do up his room this morning?”
That was better. Kate twitteringly acknowledged that she had.
“Did you see anything of a letter I left on the bedroom table? The window was open at the top, it may have blown on to the floor; anyway, I haven't been able to find it.”
The maid had seen nothing of any paper, which was not surprising, as Pointer had just invented it. “Besides, sir, the manager would have been sure to see it. He didn't go to bed at all, nor even lie down.”
“Tut! Tut! Worried, I suppose, by all the bother. He generally sleeps so well, too.”
He had learnt what he wanted to know, and the girl was allowed to scuttle away from his terrifying presence.
Pointer next made his way to a window on the first floor landing. It, too, looked on to the balcony. He examined the sill with his magnifying glass very carefully, and bending out scrutinised the boards below.
“Come here, Miller,” he called softly, “could you scramble out of that window?”
The detective proved that he could, provided that he were helped, but he found it difficult.
“When the manager, and that American gentleman, left No. 14 last night, did you see them go on down the stairs?”