A piece of glittering steel came flying through the air. It fell without sound among the ferns and was lost to sight.
Leonard McLane was the first to speak. He waited until Mitchell and Sergeant Brown reached them.
“You were right, Mitchell,” he said, addressing the Inspector. “The scalpel fell directly into this box,” laying his hand upon it. “It is the fourth box from the one where you found the discolored scalpel.”
“Then our theory is correct,” declared Mitchell. He bowed gravely to Anne. “Thank you, Miss Meredith.”
Before she could reply Herman appeared from the pantry.
“You are wanted on the telephone, Doctor Curtis,” he announced. “This way, sir,” and in silence Curtis accepted the butler’s guidance.
A second more and the little group in the square reception hall broke up; Anne accompanying her cousin to her bedroom, and Armstrong, at a quiet word from Inspector Mitchell, led the way into the library, followed by the two police officials.
Left to himself Leonard McLane repacked his surgical kit and took up his hat and overcoat; then he paused before opening the front door and stood in thought. Fully two minutes passed before he moved. Replacing his hat, overcoat and bag on the hall table he turned around and went slowly upstairs, and entered David Curtis’ bedroom. Except for himself the bedroom was empty.
McLane walked directly over to the bedstead and halted by it. Bending down he closely scanned the spotless linen. It was unwrinkled, immaculate.
McLane straightened up with a jerk; his eyes wide with wonder.