“And here is the top,” he said, picking it up from the bed. “Can you get in touch with Mr. Lander?”
“He’ll be at Naples in a day or two. I’ll wire him then, but I shouldn’t imagine he had lost anything worth the thief’s trouble,” said Tab.
They went back to the sitting-room and Carver stood a long time by the table, tapping its covered surface nervously, his long face puckered in thought.
“Do you know what I think?” he said suddenly.
“Generally,” said Tab.
“Do you know what I am thinking now?”
“You think I am giving you a lot of trouble over a happening which wasn’t worth mentioning,” said Tab.
Carver shook his head.
“I am thinking this,” he said slowly and deliberately, “that the man who burgled this flat was the man who killed Jesse Trasmere! If you ask me to give chapter and verse for my conclusion I shall both disappoint you and disappoint myself. I have always found,” he went on, “that when one has an instinctive conviction, it is a mistake to make too close an examination of one’s mind. Every human being was endowed some time or other, with as powerful and potent an instinct as the most sensitive of wild animals. With the growth of reason, the instinctive quality faded, until today, in humanity, we find only the faintest trace of it. Yet,” he said earnestly, “it is possible for humanity to cultivate that germ of instinct so that one can go to a race-track and pick every winner.”
“You are joking,” said Tab surprised, but Carver shook his head.