“What do you mean?” snapped the manager shrilly. “I have explained! Good God, I am explaining! I may have wrapped a box up in any chance piece of paper I found lying around without noticing its colour—its stripes!”
Pointer waited again. Then:
“You have nothing further to add, sir?”
“No!” The manager passed his hand across his face as though to wipe away an incautious word.
The Chief Inspector took out a small black book from an inner pocket and held it in front of the other. “Do you identify this, sir?”
The manager's face glistened under the light.
“Of course. It's the safe receipt-book. You have no business with that, officer. Aren't you overstepping your authority?”
“I think not, sir. Here are the entries up to July 25th—the date Mr. Eames came to the hotel. Here are the entries up to August 4th, the date of his death—and here are the entries from August 4th up to date. Does nothing strike you about them?”
“Nothing!” The manager's voice was harsh. “They are all in perfect order. Each entry initialled by me and by the visitor, and the dated signed receipt in full when the article or articles were handed back. What mare's nest have you got hold of now?”
“You have no explanation to offer of the curious fact that up to the 25th the entries are in a different ink from the receipts, and the receipts themselves differ according to the pen used. But from the twenty-fifth of July to August fourth inclusive, that is these ten pages”—he held them up—“though the handwriting differs as before, all the writing is done with one ink throughout and with one nib—a rather pointed fountain pen? After August fourth again the nibs and the ink varies as they do before July 25th.”