“Ah, that’s quite another question, Mr. Starr. Her motive doesn’t matter in the least, so far as tracking her murderer is concerned; and if you hark back to the papers as a clue, why they lead straight to the one person—Mr. Roger Carling. And there you are!”
Austin leant his head on his hand in deep dejection.
“I’ll never believe it was Roger Carling!”
Snell glanced at him kindly enough.
“Take my advice, Mr. Starr, don’t go wearing yourself out trying to find fresh trails. They’ll all turn out as false as this one. The only thing to be done is to leave it to the jury—or to chance. I’ve known a lot of mysteries cleared up by what seemed to be pure chance.”
“There’s still the notion of a casual thief,” mused Austin.
“There is. And we’re keeping that in sight I assure you. But I don’t believe it was done by a wrong ’un down on his luck. Whoever it was wore gloves.”
“How in thunder do you know that?” demanded Austin, genuinely surprised.
“Because there were smears on the bag caused by gloved fingers. If they’d been finger prints they’d have been hanging evidence! There were no such smears on the envelope, though.”
“Any finger prints on it?” asked Austin quickly.