Together we went carefully through the fugitive’s belongings, but found nothing of interest. They were merely clothes of good quality or the wardrobe of a fashionable young man. From the pocket of the suitcase that bore the label “B. O. B.”—or Bernese Oberland Bahn—I took out three one-pound Treasury notes. But we found not a scrap of writing of any sort. There was some burnt paper in the fireplace, suggesting that with the coat he had destroyed all documents that might give a clue to his identity. The broken bottle smelt of petrol and apparently he had kept the spirit ready for use if he wanted quickly to destroy anything.
Our search concluded, Seton had all the things removed to an unoccupied room and locked the door.
“The Bank will pay the halfnote,” said Seton. “I shall pay the lot in and hold the money until Mr. Graydon turns up again. He has plenty of money, of course, and may not have missed it. There is no doubt some explanation. I cannot believe, knowing Mr. Graydon as I did, that there can be anything very seriously wrong.”
“But why should the note be burned?” I queried.
“It might have been accidentally among the other papers he destroyed, sir. Don’t you think so?”
This, of course, was possible. For a long time we sat in Seton’s room discussing the strange affair. At first Seton thought he ought to tell the police, but I urged him not to do so. It would get into the papers, I argued, and that was the last thing desirable for a high-class private hotel such as his. I did not want a public scandal that must involve Thelma in most unpleasant publicity.
“I wonder whether he had an inkling that you’d called, sir?” suggested Seton. “Perhaps he saw you from one of the front windows and then rushed up and prepared to bolt.”
“But why should he? I have acted towards him only as a friend and I see no reason why he should take such extreme steps to avoid me. Besides, he actually called at my flat.”
“Yes, I had forgotten that,” Seton admitted. “But still, I think something must have frightened him—and frightened him badly, too. He wouldn’t have cut his hand in opening the bottle of petrol, burned his clothes and papers, and got away so swiftly if there wasn’t some very strong motive for doing so. What’s your opinion?”
“The same as yours, Seton,” I answered. “But the affair is full of remarkable circumstances. How did he get out of that locked room? He was certainly in there when I first knocked.”