“In what we call the Museum Room—next to the library. I don’t know that it occurred to me—or even to any of us—to go in there—there was no connection you see.” He looked across at Anthony.
“Is the Museum Room kept locked?” demanded the latter.
“Not necessarily during the day,” came the answer. “My father might be in and out several times during an ordinary day—he might even have been in there last night with Colonel Leach-Fletcher for all we know. Butterworth will be able to tell us,” he concluded, rather lamely, Daventry thought, “we can ask Butterworth if he locked the Museum Room when he locked up last night.”
“You don’t mind if I smoke?” put in Bathurst. “The key of this Museum Room now—where would it be kept—in the door?” He lit his cigarette, and tossed the match into an ash-tray.
“No—I don’t think so. In fact, I’m sure not. The key of a room like that would be hung up each night in Butterworth’s service-room. He would unlock the room some time during the following morning.”
“So that we may say—anybody had access to it—knowing that the key was kept there?”
“I suppose so,” replied Stewart. “But I’m quite certain the Museum Room door was shut all right when the alarm was given this morning.” He sat back in his chair firmly as though to give point to his words.
“That’s pretty conclusive then,” admitted Anthony. “Still—I think we’ll have a look at this Museum Room—nevertheless! You see it might supply that motive I’m looking for.” He rubbed his chin with his finger. “Otherwise——”
Stewart rose from his chair at the head of the table. “Would you care to come and look now, Mr. Bathurst?”
Anthony motioned him back again. “In the morning, Mr. Stewart, in the morning. That will be time enough. Tell me—I’m rather curious to know—the point is of extreme importance—have you any list or catalogue of your father’s collection?”