A glance round the room showed the doctor that it belonged to Mrs. Silverdale. Through the half-open door of a wardrobe he caught sight of some dresses; the dressing-table was littered with feminine knick-knacks, among which was a powder-puff which the owner had not replaced in its box; a dressing-jacket hung on a chair close to the single bed. The whole room betrayed its constant use by some woman who was prepared to spend time on her toilette.
“Found anything further?” Dr. Ringwood inquired as Sir Clinton glanced up from his task.
“Nothing except this.”
The Chief Constable indicated the lowest drawer in front of him.
“Somebody's broken the lock and gone inside in a hurry. The drawer's been shoved home anyhow and left projecting a bit. It caught my eye when I came in.”
He pulled the drawer open as he spoke, and Dr. Ringwood moved across and looked down into it over the Chief Constable's shoulder. A number of jewel-boxes lay in one corner, and Sir Clinton turned his attention to these in the first place. He opened them, one after another, and found the contents of most of them in place. One or two rings, and a couple of small articles seemed to be missing.
“Quite likely these are things she's wearing to-night,” he explained, replacing the leather cases in the drawer as he spoke. “We'll try again.”
The next thing which came to his hand was a packet of photographs of various people. Among them was one of young Hassendean, but it seemed to have no special value for Mrs. Silverdale, since it had been carelessly thrust in among the rest of the packet.
“Nothing particularly helpful there, it seems,” was Sir Clinton's opinion.
He turned next to several old dance-programmes which had been preserved with some care. Lifting them in turn and holding them so that the doctor could see them, the Chief Constable glanced at the scribbled names of the various partners.