“I've only been here two weeks, sir.”
“Then you don't know the gentleman I mean even by sight?”
“I saw the manager and a gentleman whom he told me afterwards was a Mr. Sikes—but more than that I couldn't say, sir,” and Mrs. Green, looking as though she would have preferred to say still less, tried to walk on, but he blocked the way.
“Just a moment. I particularly want to find out any friends of Mr. Eames, and I've reason to believe that he and this Mr. Sikes knew each other. The manager—I've just spoken to him”—Pointer was always glad to find even a crumb of truth which he could mix in with business—“doesn't remember whether Mr. Sikes went into Mr. Eames' room or not.”
“You mean afterwards, sir?” Mrs. Green's suspicions of the police were again lulled. “The two gentlemen left Mr. Eames' room together and went on into the other balcony rooms. Mr. Sikes was looking for a room for his wife and family, but I had an idea—well, I thought the manager didn't want it talked about: you know he has to make special terms to some; but there, of course as he spoke to you about it, why, there can't be any harm in my referring to it—but whether the gentleman with him came back later and saw Mr. Eames or spoke to him downstairs is more than I can say; and now I must go, sir, or goodness knows what the girls will be up to in the linen-room.” And go she did this time.
A message reached Watts on his return from rescuing the family hats from the monkeys which caused him to take the evening train to Coventry, there to learn as much as possible about its doubtless worthy citizen, Sikes.
Miller, who had been sent across to have a chat with the porters of the large block of flats opposite, brought back no grist for the official mill. But he had allowed it to leak out, in accordance with instructions, that there had been a robbery at the Enterprise, and that “the party interested” would pay for any information as to the thief who had escaped, possibly with a bag, either by way of the balcony or by the little side-door on Saturday afternoon.
“It's going to be a regular November Special,” Pointer said to O'Connor on his return to his rooms, “or all the signs deceive me.”
“D'ye mean to tell me that the criminal is still at large after all this time—close on twenty-four hours! Let me have the facts, Watson; sure Sherlock Holmes will give you a leg-up with pleasure,” and “Sherlock Holmes” assumed a judicial attitude.
Pointer carefully went over the knotty points unearthed during the day. “There's Cox . . .” the Scotland Yard man was evidently telling over his pieces, “who takes a room at the Marvel and uses it for a couple of hours . . . he's in the centre of the puzzle. Yes, he's that little gold ball you can just see.” He glanced up at the Chinese puzzle above his head.