Baddeley did so. Two more coats hung there. His deft fingers quickly ran over them. “Nothing there,” he declared.
Anthony thought again. “Try the drawers of the dressing-table.”
Baddeley opened the right-hand drawer. Ties, collars, a handkerchief or two. He tried the left. “Ah!”
He held a wallet—leather—the kind of wallet that is in popular use. He opened it.
“Stamps—and private papers—no money—not a note there—I’ll run through these papers later,” he said. “But not a cent.”
“Is it robbery, Inspector?” questioned Sir Charles. “Appearances, at least, seem to me to be pointing in that direction.”
Baddeley shook his head. “Up to now, sir,” he declared—“it’s got me beat! I find out one thing and seem to see a little light, and then I chance on something else, equally important on the face of it, that knocks my first theory into a cocked hat. Nothing fits! Nothing tallies!”
“I confess that to some extent, I share your bewilderment, Inspector,” said Anthony. “If I knew——”
Baddeley suddenly became vividly alive. “Of course—there may be that explanation.” He swung round on to the three of us. “Any cards last night?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Why?”