“Right, sir!”
“Now for an interesting little experiment,” said Baddeley. “Wait here a minute, gentlemen.” He slipped from the room.
“I hope he won’t be too long,” said Sir Charles. “It’s very late and I’m dead tired. What’s this experiment?”
Before either of us could answer, the Inspector reappeared. In his hand he carried the two brown shoes that we had found on Prescott. He proceeded to insert the lace we had just discovered on Webb in the shoe that wanted it. The length was just right.
“The other lace, gentlemen,” he declared. “Look for yourselves.”
“You’re right, Inspector,” said Anthony. “Though I must confess I had doubted it.”
“Complicates things, considerably, don’t you think? Fairly beats me!”
“No,” said Anthony. He put his pipe in his pocket. “I regard this as a most interesting and instructive development.”
CHAPTER XII
MAJOR HORNBY AND THE VENETIAN DAGGER
The Monday afternoon following the murder found Roper busy in the small and unpretentious building in Considine that served as the Police Station. As he worked he muttered to himself. “Take a Kodak with you on your holidays. I don’t think. When I get my holidays I’ll take darned good care to leave my photography apparatus at home.” He looked at the clock. “Just on three o’clock—the Inspector will be here in a jiffy.” He held half a dozen plates to the light—then put them down again on the window-sill. “They’ll be just about ready for him.”