“I examined Tilghman’s personal effects and luggage,” exclaimed Shively in bewilderment. “And I found no sign of their having been disturbed or searched, nor did I see any valuable papers.”
Calhoun smiled enigmatically. “Did you not? Then the murderer must have secured the documents and left no trace of having done so. The loss of these documents may do the United States irreparable harm, may, in fact, precipitate war between this country and—Japan.”
“Then in Heaven’s name, let us find the Jap, Ito,” cried McLane, springing to his feet.
“Finding Julian Barclay would lead to the same result,” protested Shively. “They are in collusion.”
Calhoun looked at him oddly. “Not a bad idea,” he said, rising. “I must be going, McLane; I have to see Chief Connor of the Secret Service. Where are you stopping, Doctor?” turning to Shively, who had also risen.
“At the New Willard,” Shively extended his hand, and Calhoun’s strong clasp made his fingers tingle.
“One more question, Doctor, before I go,” as he spoke Calhoun turned back from the door held open by McLane. “Do you recall whether the shade of the window by which Tilghman sat was pulled down?”
“It was.”
“Thanks,” and Calhoun joined McLane in the corridor.