Rampole thoroughly agreed with him. They all fidgeted in the big old room, and Sir Benjamin opened some shutters. Silver chimes rang with fluid grace from the great clock in the hall, sounding as though they were striking through the vault of a cathedral. In this library everything looked old and solid and conventional; there was a globe-map which nobody ever spun, rows of accepted authors which nobody ever read, and above the mantelpiece a large mounted swordfish which (you were convinced) nobody had ever caught. A glass ball was hung up in one window, as a charm against witches.
Budge returned presently, carrying a laundry-bag.
"Everything is here, sir," he announced, "with the exception of the underclothing. Nothing has been removed from the pockets."
"Thank you. Stay here, Budge; I shall want to ask you some questions."
Dr. Fell and Rampole came over to watch as Sir Benjamin put the bag on the centre table and began taking things out. A grey jacket, stiff with mud, the lining frayed and torn, and several buttons missing.
"Here we are," the chief constable muttered, feeling in the pockets. "Cigarette-case-handsome one, too. Full of… these look like American cigarettes. Yes. Lucky Strike. Box of matches. Pocket flask, brandy, a third gone. That's the lot.”
He rummaged again.
"Old shirt, nothing in the pocket. Socks. Here are the trousers, also in disrepair. He knew it would be a dusty job, poking about that prison. Here's his wallet, in the hip pocket." Sir Benjamin paused. "I suppose I'd better look inside. H'm. Ten-shilling note, two pound notes, and a fiver. Letters, all sent to him in America, American postmark. `Martin Starberth, Esq., 470 West 24th St., N. Y.' Look here, you don't suppose some enemy might have followed him from America…?"
"I doubt it," said Dr. Fell. "But you might put them aside."
"Notebook of some sort, full of figures. "A. & S.,' 25, `Good Roysterers,' 10, 'Roaring Caravans,' 3, `Oedipus Rises'; 'Bloomingdales,' 25 'Good-' What's all this?"