"So you've known her before!" observed Kerth as they approached Trent's room.
Trent said, without surprise: "You heard?"
"Everything.... I'll drop over and find out about the Bombay trains; join you in a moment."
As Kerth moved toward the central building, Trent unlocked the door. After he switched on the light, his first act was to open his bag and insert his hand into the pocket where he had left the piece of coral. His fingers trembled, for he felt that he was questioning for the identity of Manlove's slayer; trembled—and groped in an empty pocket.
For several seconds he stood motionless, trying to adjust himself to the situation. When he came into full sentience, he looked carefully through the bag. He even searched his pockets. But the oval was not to be found.... Some one had entered his room; stolen it. The realization burned like acid into his brain. But if—
His mental inquest was cut short as a knock announced Kerth.
"Message for you," said the latter, extending a telegram.
Trent hastily tore it open; read:
"Party fitting description bought ticket for Mughal Sarai last night. Khansammah at dâk bungalow says she asked questions about you and Manlove. Following up clue. Nothing new. Urqhart."
A sense of disappointment smote him. First Chatterjee; then the oval; now this! A series of blind alleys.