“It’s a middling big house, and the furniture’ll have been good when it was bought, though it’s getting a trifle shabby now. Mr. Duke’s bedroom is at the end of the left wing, and Miss Duke’s is in the front of the house, so anybody could go through Mr. Duke’s room without being seen. Anybody could get a mould of that key if he left it in his room, say, while he was having his bath.”
“Did you find out any possibilities; any tradesmen in, like yourself, or any one staying in the house?”
The Sergeant shook his head.
“I did not, sir,” he admitted. “I thought I had maybe done enough for one day. I didn’t want to be after starting them wondering about me. But I’ll get that out of Rachael to-morrow night.”
“Better see that Manley, the chauffeur—or no, I shall see him myself. You stick to what you’re at. Anything else?”
“No, sir, I think not. What the girls talked most about was Miss Sylvia’s engagement. It seems she was engaged to some friend in the City and they were to have been married at the end of the month, and now they’ve had some bust up and the whole thing’s postponed, if not off altogether.”
“That so? They didn’t tell you the reason?”
“They did not, sir. But I can likely find out from Rachael if you want to know.”
“I don’t suppose I do,” French returned, “but you might as well find out what you can—on spec. You know who the young man is?”
“No, sir. They didn’t say.”