The men were gone now, so we stepped into the bedroom.
Save that the master was absent, the room was much as we had already seen it. The flowers, now withered, still lay on the pillows, and the crackers and orange were on the floor where Doctor Rogers had flung them.
The feather duster seemed not to interest Kee, but he scrutinized the window sill with care.
“No signs here, you see. And, too, there’s a balcony. It would be easier to dive from the sitting-room window. So that’s what our friend did. See, here’s the lady’s scarf. Now learn, my boy, to distinguish between important and non-important clues. Without doubt, the sentimental Sampson kept that scarf by him as a reminder and souvenir of his bride to be. Most likely, he went to bed, carrying it with him. Perhaps wrapped it about him, or held it to his cheek.”
“Don’t be silly!”
“Not silly at all. I see you know nothing of fetish worship, remnants of which survive among us moderns in the form of just such souvenirs. So, I deduce the murderer had no hand in providing the scarf. But the flowers had to be brought from their vases, the crackers and fruit from the table, the duster from its proper abiding place, all these things were achieved by our tennis-soled friend.”
“And the nail?” I snapped at him.
“Yes,” he said, “and the nail.”
CHAPTER IX
CLUES
“And what was the nail driven home with?” I pursued, looking about.