"Poker," he murmured. "By the by, where are the chips?"
"The chips?" Wingate repeated.
"Poker is one of those games, I believe, which necessitates the use of counters or the handling of a great deal of money."
Wingate shrugged his shoulders. He made no reply. Shields took up one of the bottles of champagne, held it to the light, poured out the remainder of its contents and gazed with an air of surprise at the froth which crept up the glass.
"Dear me!" he exclaimed. "I do not know much about champagne, but it seems to me that this has not been opened very long. By the by, you all drank champagne?" he went on. "I see no trace of any spirits about."
"It was one of Lord Dredlinton's hobbles," Wingate declared. "Spirits are very seldom served in this house."
The Inspector nodded. He had crossed to the sideboard and was looking into the contents of a great bowl of flowers.
"I never heard," he reflected, "that roses did well in champagne. Let me see," he proceeded, counting the empty bottles, "four bottles between four of you, the contents of at least two bottles here, and—dear me, the carnations, too!" he went on, peering into a further bowl. "Really, Mr. Wingate, your orgy scarcely seems to have been one of drink."
"Perhaps it was not," was the resigned reply.
The inspector sighed.