"Right," smiles Constance. "I was about to ask if Mr. Bathurst, having effected his object thus far independently, will be satisfied to inspect my dressing room, the real scene of action, in the ordinary manner and without any obstacles in the way."
"Perfectly," says the detective, dropping his tone of badinage and becoming alert and business like at once. "And the sooner the better. I am anxious to complete my deductions, for my time is limited, and I must wait for daylight to overlook the grounds more closely than I could venture to do to-day."
"We are all anxious for your opinion, and so, will you take one of those lamps and my keys, or will you have an escort?"
"I wish you to point out to me the exact position of everything this morning, Miss Wardour. I think we may all go up."
So they all ascended to the disordered dressing room, and the detective seats himself, deliberately, upon the first unoccupied chair, and begins to look slowly about him. It is not a long survey, and then the safe is examined. Here he looks at Constance.
"This has not been done without noise; not loud enough to be heard across the hall, perhaps, but enough to be heard by a light sleeper, or, indeed, any one who did not sleep too soundly and with muffled ears, say, in that room," pointing through the curtained arch which divided the dressing from the sleeping room.
"Did you sleep there, Miss Wardour?"
Constance nods, then goes through the arch and returns with a little phial of chloroform, and a fragment of cambric in her hand.
She places them before him, telling him quietly how they were found before her that morning.
The detective takes them, turns them over in his hand, and examines them closely.