He came last, preoccupied.
“Nine stairs, Bill! Nine stairs. Nine stairs—Inspector.”
Baddeley looked puzzled. Then walked to the bedroom door.
“Of course,” he said, “anybody could have been in here since, couldn’t they? The door is shut. But not locked. The key is on the inside. But I can’t tell for certain that these facts were so when Prescott left it for the last time, can I?”
“I think you may take it so,” said Sir Charles somewhat pompously. “My people here wouldn’t think of entering another’s room.”
“Somebody here thinks of murder, Sir Charles, say what you like! What about the servants?”
“They have not been on this floor yet.”
“Very good.”
We made our way into the room.
As far as I could see there was nothing to excite the slightest comment. Between us and the bed, upon our immediate right and left was the dressing-table and a chair respectively.