"I—I don't see it!" exclaimed the inspector. "How's this?"
He turned the things over again, and yet again—there was no tobacco-box. And at that, evidently vexed and perplexed, he rang a bell and asked for a particular constable, who presently entered. The inspector indicated the various properties.
"Didn't you put these things together when the inquest was over?" he demanded. "They were all lying on the table at the inquest—we showed them there. I told you to put them up and bring them here and seal them."
"I did, sir," answered the man. "I put together everything that was on the table, at once. The package was never out of my hands till I got it here, and sealed it. Sergeant Brown and myself counted the money, sir."
"The money is all right," observed the inspector. "But there's a metal box—a tobacco-box—missing. Do you remember it?"
"Can't say that I do, sir," replied the constable. "I packed up everything that was there."
The inspector nodded a dismissal; when we were alone again, he turned to Miss Raven and me with a queer expression.
"That box has been abstracted at the inquest!" he said, "Now then!—by whom?—and why?"