“I don't know,” was the disappointing answer. “I reached the door at the same moment you did and passed right around the dining room to get a view of what was going on. I thought I would take a squint at the tables and see if there was any wine being used,” he admitted. “But there was nothing doing in that line. Then Mr. Clymer offered to bring me down to Headquarters, and I left the club with him.”
Kent took a turn about the room. “Did Mr. Clymer go to the Cosmos Club?” he asked, pausing by the detective.
“No, I heard him tell his chauffeur to drive to the Saratoga. Want to use the telephone?” observing Kent's glance stray to the instrument.
By way of answer Kent took off the receiver and after giving a number to Central, he recognized Clymer's voice over the telephone.
“That you, Mr. Clymer? Yes, well, this is Kent speaking. Can you tell me who was the last person to leave the porch when Colonel de Geofroy made his farewell speech to-night at the club?”
“I was,” came Clymer's surprised answer. “I waited for McIntyre to pick up Mrs. Brewster's fan.”
“Did he take my letter off the table also?” called Kent.
“Why, no.” Clymer's voice testified to his increased surprise. “Mrs. Brewster dropped her fan right in the doorway just as McIntyre and I approached; we both stooped to get it and, like fools; bumped our heads together in the act. He got the fan, however, and I waited for him to walk into the dining room before following Mrs. Brewster.”
“As you passed the table, Mr. Clymer, did you see my letter lying on the table?” persisted Kent.
“Upon my word I never looked at the table,” Clymer's hearty tone carried conviction. “I walked right along in my hurry to know what the cheering was about. I am sorry, Kent; have you mislaid your letter?”