“I want you for a moment, Daventry—I want to get into the library while the coast is reasonably clear, and I want you to help me.”
Peter was pleased to hear this—action stimulated him just as much as passivity galled him. He cast one more adoring glance in the direction of the exquisite Marjorie and fell in at Anthony’s side.
“It’s just possible that I’m too late,” remarked the latter, “that the bird has flown—or rather ‘has been flown with’—still, we’ll see.”
Peter nodded in agreement, although of course he didn’t see.
“Come in and close the door quietly,” said Anthony, “and now you’re in, sit down and make yourself comfortable—you’re going to stay in here some little time.” Peter found himself wondering what was coming. “I’m going to speak very quietly, Daventry, because something sinister is going on in this house—and as events have already shown—the persons concerned stick at nothing. I am particularly anxious not to be overheard or even overlooked. So we’ll pretend, as far as we are able, to be indulging in just an ordinary conversation. Remember how careful I was first thing after breakfast this morning.”
“Bank on me,” came Peter’s reply. This sort of thing rather appealed to him, it served to put him on his mettle.
“You will remember also,” commenced Anthony, “that my rest was disturbed last night, or to be precise, this morning, by a gentleman who was indulging in a little walking exercise past my bedroom door and down the corridor to his own! You and I know that gentleman, my dear Daventry, as a Mr. Morgan Llewellyn. I formed the opinion that it must be a fairly strong motive that lures a man from his bed to promenade the house at night—what do you think, Daventry?”
“Absolutely,” said Peter decisively, “I know it would have to be for me.”
“We’ll proceed then”—Anthony lit a cigarette and tossed his case to Peter. “From other symptoms that very quickly manifested themselves, I concluded that the gentleman in question was seeking something that he had dropped—or left by mistake, possibly—in this room—he was annoyed, you will remember, that he found his entrance barred by Clegg’s arrangements. And he was so annoyed that he was indiscreet enough to express his annoyance. Of course I ought to mention that there’s just one other possibility”—here Anthony glanced slyly at the attentive Daventry—“Mr. Llewellyn may have been worried about something that somebody else had left in here.” He blew a cloud of smoke from his nostrils. “A lady’s handkerchief, for example. What do you say to that—impossible?”
“I suppose it’s possible,” conceded Peter grudgingly, “I’ll grant you that much.”