Sir Clinton made a rough measurement of the distance between the two drops.
“If they’d been nearer together or further apart, then each of them might have been made while his arm was going backwards in its natural swing while he was walking towards the door. But the distance between them won’t fit that. You’ll see at once if you try walking over the ground yourself, Inspector; for you’re just about Marden’s height and your stride must be nearly the same as his.”
“He said something about going to the safe and trying the handle,” the Inspector admitted, grudgingly. “So far, his tale’s got some support.”
Sir Clinton smiled covertly at Armadale’s obvious desire to pick holes in the valet’s narrative.
“Well, let’s find out how it happened,” Sir Clinton suggested. “He evidently passed this bay and went on towards the next one, where the safe is. We’ll follow his example.”
They turned the corner of the show-case and stepped over to the safe door.
“There’s a trace of blood on the handle, true enough,” the Inspector admitted. “But I’m not sure he told the truth about why he came to the safe.”
Sir Clinton inspected the smear of blood on the handle, but he seemed to attach very little importance to it.
“I suppose one mustn’t jump to conclusions and assume that everything’s all above-board,” he conceded. “But even if we keep open minds, wouldn’t it be the most natural thing in the world for Marden to try the safe door? Remember what had happened according to his story. Mr. Chacewater was in the room, for Marden saw him with his own eyes. Mr. Chacewater turned the corner of a bay—the one next this; and then Marden lost him for good. If you’d been in Marden’s place, wouldn’t you have searched about, and then, finding no trace of the missing man, wouldn’t you have jumped to the conclusion that he might be hidden in the safe? And wouldn’t you have given the handle a pull, just to make sure the safe was really locked and that Mr. Chacewater wasn’t hiding inside it?”
“I suppose so,” conceded the Inspector, evidently dissatisfied.