“That is all.”
The inspector stooped and tried the lids.
“Both locked,” he said. “I think we’ll take the liberty of a peep into these boxes.”
He produced a bunch of keys and tried them all, but none fitted. Then Hewitt felt about inside the locks very carefully with a match, and then taking a button-hook from his pocket, after a little careful “humouring” work, turned both the locks, one after another, and lifted the lids.
Mrs. Beckle uttered an exclamation of dismay, and the inspector looked at her rather quizzically. The boxes contained nothing but bricks.
“THE BOXES CONTAINED NOTHING BUT BRICKS.”
“Ah,” said the inspector, “I’ve seen that sort of suits o’ clothes before. People have ’em who don’t pay hotel bills and such like. You’re a very good pick-lock, by the way, Mr. Hewitt. I never saw anything quicker and neater.”
“But I know he had a lot of clothes,” Mrs. Beckle protested. “I’ve seen them.”
“Very likely—very likely indeed,” the inspector answered. “But they’re gone now, and Mr. Foster’s gone with ’em.”