“Burglars? That’s poetic justice, Tab,” said Carver’s sad voice. “I’ll come right along.”
The detective was at the house in ten minutes.
“If this had happened in the daytime I could find a fairly simple explanation,” said Tab, “because the front door below is left open until nine, and the tenant who comes in or goes out nearest to nine o’clock, closes it. We keep the door open because it saves a lot of running up and down stairs, but the street-door was closed when I came home.”
“How would it have been a simple matter to burgle the flat?” asked Carver, and Tab explained that there was a window on the landing through which a sure-footed and skilful adventurer might emerge on to a narrow ledge by which the kitchen window could be reached.
“He didn’t go that way I should think,” said Carver, after he had inspected the kitchenette. “No, the burglar opened the door like a gentleman. Do you know whether Mr. Lander had anything worth stealing in that trunk?”
Tab shook his head.
“I am perfectly certain he hadn’t,” he said. “Poor old Rex had nothing of value except the money he drew from his uncle’s estate just before he left.”
Carver went back to Rex’s room and carefully emptied the trunk item by item.
“It was something at the bottom of the trunk. I should imagine it was in this box.”
He handled a little wooden box with a sliding lid.