“Perhaps. There were, if you remember, certain signs of a struggle.”
“The fact that he was fully dressed,” I countered, “suggests to me very strongly that there was an assignation.”
“Yes, I concede that, Bill, but against that, you know, I must recall to you the brown shoes he was wearing.”
“Perhaps his dress shoes weren’t handy,” I argued. “The others may have been nearer to his hand.”
“No. I can’t have it, Bill, his dress shoes were under his chair by the bed—just where he put them when he took them off last night. You see, I looked for them.”
“Oh,” I said, rather nettled. “You evidently thought them important.”
“Most assuredly,” he rejoined. “But not so important as the other thing Prescott’s bedroom told us.” He rose and stretched his arms.
“Yes,” I assented. “That money business of Baddeley’s is very mystifying. And yet there may be a perfectly simple explanation.”
“Of course,” said Anthony. “But I wasn’t thinking of that.”
“What do you mean?” I broke in. “What else was there?”