“I want his other address—his office in New York, you understand?”
“His office will be shut by now, if you’re going to cable,” the Inspector pointed out, thoughtlessly.
“No, it won’t. You forget that their time is some hours behind ours. We’ll catch him in office hours if you hurry. Then when you’ve done that, get Foss’s face photographed; and arrange for a constable and reliefs to be posted at the museum door till further orders. The museum door is to be left open and the light is to be left burning at night, so that he can keep his eye on things.”
Inspector Armadale jotted some notes in his pocket-book. As he closed this, he seemed to think of something.
“There’s just one thing, sir. You want to get into the safe? Couldn’t we get the number of the lock combination from the makers? They must know it.”
Sir Clinton shook his head.
“Unfortunately the safe has no maker’s name-plate on it, Inspector. I looked at the time we examined it. It’s a fairly old pattern, though, I noticed; and if it hasn’t got a balanced fence arbour, I think I can guarantee to find the combination of it with a little assistance.”
Armadale looked rather blank.
“I thought these things were too stiff to tackle,” he said.
Sir Clinton suppressed a smile.