“Chief Constable!” he called. “That pipe!—have you got it?”
The Chief Constable turned around with a suddenly roused alertness.
“I?” he exclaimed. “No—I haven’t got it. Isn’t it there?”
Blick shook his head, his puzzled look changing to one of vexation. He withdrew into the dining-room again, and the Chief Constable strode after him. The other men followed, each impelled by a curiosity for which they would have found it hard to account. Blick was rummaging about amongst the books and papers on the table. Two or three policemen were there; so, too, were a similar number of solicitors’ clerks, and the Coroner’s officer; at one end of the table a couple of local reporters were busily writing out their notes.
“I’ve never seen it—at least since it was held up,” said a police-sergeant to whom Blick was appealing. “I saw Grimsdale produce it, and I saw the Coroner and the jurymen handling it, and I’ve never seen it since.”
“Who had it last?” asked Blick.
“I had!” answered the barrister. “I took it from the jury, and laid it on the table—just there.”
“Well, it’s gone!” said Blick. He turned to the police-sergeant. “Have any of your men gone away who might have been likely to pick it up?”
“Nobody’s gone away yet,” replied the sergeant. “We’re all here—all of us that came.”
Blick turned over everything that remained on the table. His face curiously set, and he said nothing.