“What time was it handed in?”
He examined the counterfoils.
“About eleven o’clock in the morning,” he said. He shook his head. “I can’t remember who brought it. We get so much luggage entered at that time in the morning that it’s almost impossible for me to recall any particular person. I know one thing, that there wasn’t anything peculiar about him, or I should have remembered.”
“You mean that the person who handed this in was very ordinary. Was he an American?”
Again the attendant thought.
“No, I don’t think he was an American, sir,” he said. “I should have remembered that. I don’t think we have had an American here for weeks.”
Elk took the bag to the office of the station police inspector, and with the aid of his key unlocked and pulled it wide open. Its contents were unusual. A suit of clothes, a shirt, collar and tie, a brand-new shaving outfit, a small bottle of Annatto, a colouring material used by dairymen, a passport made out in the name of “John Henry Smith,” but with the photograph missing, a Browning pistol, fully loaded, an envelope containing 5,000 francs and five one-hundred-dollar bills; these comprised the contents.
Elk surveyed the articles as they were spread on the inspector’s table.
“What do you make of that?”
The railwayman shook his head.