“Certainly,” he answered, laughing; “every day, and several times a day. It’s the only one I have. Are you a detective?”
“Yes. Do you ever put things in the pockets of your coat?”
The Professor smiled shamefacedly like a schoolboy culprit.
“In one of them. There’s been a hole in the other one for a long time—two years at least.”
“Would you mind letting me see that coat?”
He lifted the blue overcoat from a hook on the door and placed it on a chair beside Miss Steel.
“Am I a suspect?” he asked politely. “Has anything been lost?”
The detective seized the overcoat and began rummaging through the pockets with a practised hand.
“Yes,” she answered; “something has been lost, and extremely disagreeable things have been said by the owner about it.”
“About me?” asked the Professor, still groping in the dark.