"Bring me some tea at once," he ordered,—"nothing to eat."
The man departed, and reappeared in a few minutes.
"Anything else, sir?" he asked, after he had set down the tray.
Deane did not answer him directly. "By the way," he said finally, "wasn't there a murder committed in one of these rooms?"
"It was next door, sir," the man answered.
"The room is locked up?" Deane asked.
"Yes, sir!"
"That is a pity," Deane remarked. "Do you know who has the key? I should very much like just to have a look around."
The waiter shook his head. "The key is downstairs in Mr. Hartshorn's office, sir, and we have no duplicate here. The police who came, they desired that no one should enter the room until they had removed the effects to Scotland Yard."
"So I was told downstairs," Deane remarked. "Do you suppose," he continued, "that it would be possible to get hold of a duplicate key? I should like very much to see the interior of that room—if possible to take a photograph of it for my newspaper. I am willing to pay."