«What's that?»
Parker brought out his pocketbook and extracted a few shreds of material, which he laid before his friend.
«One was caught in the gutter just above Thipps's bathroom window, another in a crack of the stone parapet just over it, and the rest came from the chimney-stack behind, where they had caught in an iron stanchion. What do you make of them?»
Lord Peter scrutinized them very carefully through his lens.
«Interesting,» he said, «damned interesting. Have you developed those plates, Bunter?» he added, as that discreet assistant came in with the post.
«Yes, my lord.»
«Caught anything?»
«I don't know whether to call it anything or not, my lord,» said Bunter, dubiously. «I'll bring the prints in.»
«Do,» said Wimsey. «Hallo! here's our advertisement about the gold chain in the Times — very nice it looks: “Write, 'phone or call 110, Piccadilly.” Perhaps it would have been safer to put a box number, though I always think that the franker you are with people, the more you're likely to deceive 'em; so unused is the modern world to the open hand and the guileless heart, what?»
«But you don't think the fellow who left that chain on the body is going to give himself away by coming here and enquiring about it?»