Randall laid down the paper. “Had he indeed? Well, that puts me in mind of a piece of information which I think might be really useful to you. Brown told me that Hyde always carried that key on his watch chain.”
There was a pause. Hannasyde still stood looking at Randall from under heavy brows, and at last he said slowly: “Did he?”
“Yes,” said Randall, putting a cigarette between his lips, and feeling in his pocket for his lighter. It was not there; he glanced round the room, saw it lying on his desk, and strolled over to get it. “Which, when one comes to think about it (but I admit I haven't thought very deeply) would seem to imply that either John Hyde is dead, or that the person calling himself his brother was in reality Hyde himself.” He lit his cigarette, and slid the lighter into his pocket. “Or,” he continued reflectively, “it might, of course, mean several other things.”
“As what?” Hannasyde asked.
Randall exhaled two spirals of smoke down his thin nostrils. “As, for instance, that he has been robbed of his key by some person unknown, or even murdered. I should look for an unidentified corpse if I were you, Superintendent. Failing that, why not find out who put that notice in the paper?”
“I mean to,” said Hannasyde. He added with startling abruptness: “Do you ever visit the Cavalry Club, Mr Matthews?”
“Frequently,” replied Randall. “Why?”
“Have you been there recently, may I ask?”
“Yes, I lunched there a couple of days ago,” replied Randall without the least hesitation. “Have you any objection?”
“None at all, Mr Matthews. And do you ever write letters on the club notepaper?”