Anthony pulled at his lower lip with his thumb and forefinger. Had Daventry known him better he would have understood from this gesture that certain features of the problem were worrying him. Then suddenly his face betrayed eagerness.
“Three more questions, Mr. Stewart, if you’ll pardon me. This sheet of note-paper found under your father’s hand—the writing on it—if my memory serves me correctly—was ‘Urgent in the morning—M. L.’—I am right, am I not?” He looked at Stewart. The latter nodded. Anthony went straight on. “This ‘M. L.’—the initials probably of somebody or something—I’ve been wondering about them. You mentioned just now, Mr. Stewart, two other members of your father’s household—a Miss Lennox, his ward, and a Mr. Llewellyn, his secretary. I feel bound to ask you if the Christian name of either of these two people begins with ‘M’—yes.” He fingered the stem of his champagne glass with undisguised approval—then carefully watched the face of his young host while he awaited his answer.
“Very curiously, Mr. Bathurst, both Mr. Llewellyn and Miss Lennox have those initials—Miss Lennox is ‘Marjorie’ and Llewellyn is ‘Morgan.’ ” He spoke with apparent composure, but Peter Daventry—most interested of spectators—was not quite sure that some, at least, of the unconcern was not deliberately assumed. He began to wonder why. Who was who in this house upon which such a tragic shadow had been cast? What dark passions had been loosed but a few hours since that had meant death, sudden and terrible, for an unsuspecting victim? What was Bathurst’s opinion? What was he thinking? Had he noticed Stewart’s counterfeit composure? Bathurst, however, appeared to be tremendously interested. He lifted his eyebrows at the piquancy of the situation as revealed to him.
“Really?” he said. “We are confronted with two ‘M. L.’s’ then. Now that’s distinctly fascinating.” He paused. “Was it a message, Mr. Stewart, do you think, to either of them—or even——” he stopped and pondered—eyes narrowed.
“A message or an instruction, Mr. Bathurst, would almost certainly affect Llewellyn, Mr. Bathurst—I think we may safely discard any idea of Miss Lennox being implicated.” He spoke quite quietly, but yet Peter Daventry fell to introspection once again. He felt certain that he was able to detect a tinge of anxiety in the voice—almost, in fact, that in what Stewart had said the wish had been father to the thought. But Bathurst, to all appearances, accepted the situation as Stewart had presented it. He went to another question.
“You stated a little while since that your father had a number of valuable things in the house. Quite a natural thing for a man of his wealth, of course. Has anything been stolen? Anything missed?”
Stewart shook his head in denial of the idea. “As far as we know, Mr. Bathurst—nothing has been taken. Certainly no money has been stolen. My father’s personal jewelry is in his bedroom—untouched—just where he left it.”
Anthony thought for a moment. “Papers! Documents! Was there any evidence that anything of that nature had been taken from the library? Did any drawers appear to have been ransacked?”
“There were no signs of disorder in the library at all. Everything there seemed quite normal.”
But Bathurst persisted. “Your father’s collection, Mr. Stewart—that was very valuable, I believe. Have steps been taken to see that this is intact? Where is the collection kept?”