“Yes, I understand that. You think the paper’s position important?”
“Very. For instance, if I could definitely assert that it occupied the latter position, I should incline to the opinion that it had been hidden there—not accidentally dropped.”
Baddeley rubbed the ridge of his jaw with his knuckles.
“Yes—that’s sound reasoning,” he admitted. “But why hide it? Why murder to get it—and then hide it? That beats me—it does.”
“It wants a bit of working out,” chuckled Anthony. “Still, there’s nothing more to be gained by staying up here. Hang on to that precious piece of paper and let’s get back to the library.”
Baddeley followed us out of the room.
“On second thoughts,” interposed Anthony, “come upstairs once more and not down. Come on, Bill. Come on, Baddeley. There’s something else I want to tell you.”
He showed the way to Prescott’s bedroom, while Baddeley trailed along in apparent discomfiture.
“You’ll not be able to hand me out any surprise packets in here, Mr. Bathurst. I went through Prescott’s belongings pretty thoroughly.”
“I’ll give you credit for that,” laughed Anthony. “So don’t worry on that score. I’m going to take you farther than this room—but only just a little farther. Come into the bathroom.”