Luckily I had taken the precaution to leave it under lock and key in an old suit-case that I kept under the bed. As soon as I had let myself into the room and fastened the door securely, I dragged out the case and opened it with feverish haste. So far all was well. The costume lay exactly as I had left it. And now what was to be done with it?
I thought out the problem carefully. I followed out in imagination the search of the police among the theatrical costumiers. At any moment they might come to a certain little Jew in Wardour Street, and force him to disclose the name and address to which this very costume had been sent more than a year ago. And the next step would surely be for them to inquire what had become of it.
I thought then, and I think now, that I took the most prudent course in the circumstances. I first wrote a letter. Then I locked up the case again, labelled it, and carried it up Shaftesbury Avenue to the post office.
CHAPTER VIII
THE LEOPARD’S CLAWS
Inspector Charles presented himself at the house in Montague Street while Sir Frank and I were at breakfast the next morning. My chief ordered him to be shown in to us.
The Inspector’s manner struck me as rather more reserved than it had been yesterday. It very quickly appeared that he was acting under instructions not received from the medical adviser of the Home Office.
“The Chief Commissioner is anxious to know if you have any report to make as to the cause of death in this Domino Club affair,” he began by saying, as soon as he had sat down.
Tarleton frowned slightly. Then he laid down his knife and fork and faced the Inspector.
“I don’t expect to complete my report for some time yet. I have certain inquiries to make which may take anything from a few days to several months.”
Captain Charles looked astonished, as he well might.