“I appreciate that. Thank you. First, take a look at that letter. Know the handwriting? No? Thanks! Secondly, your bedroom, Captain Arkwright, is the nearest to the door of the billiard room—it is on the same floor—with Sir Charles’—did you hear any noise in the night, any sounds of the struggle that appears to have taken place there?”
“No, Inspector! I can’t honestly say that I did. But I have a very hazy recollection that I heard footsteps in the garden not so very long after I had gone to bed. I can’t be sure even of that—and yet the sound of footsteps seems to belong to my last night’s sleep! Have you ever experienced anything of the kind, gentlemen?” he appealed to all of us,—“and I have a reason for telling you. As a matter of fact,” he continued, “the reminiscence was so vague, so entirely nebulous, that I had decided to say nothing about it. But something has happened to make me change my mind.”
“What is that?” demanded Baddeley.
“Mrs. Arkwright heard them too,” he replied quietly. “But she can’t place the time.”
Baddeley nodded his head in apparent confirmation. “I’m not surprised.” There was a respectful tap on the door.
“Come in,” called Sir Charles. Fitch, the butler, entered. He went to our host. “Wants me at once, Fitch?” muttered Sir Charles.
“If you please, Sir Charles.”
“Excuse me for a few moments, gentlemen. Lady Considine wants me immediately.” Fitch held the door open. We waited. But not for long. Sir Charles was quickly back, agitated, breathless, but alert.
“Inspector Baddeley,” he said, “I have news for you at last. Lady Considine has been robbed of her pearls—the Considine pearls.”