“By whom?” asked Mr. Reeder.
“By an inhabitant of Siltbury, whose name for the moment I forget. Indeed, I never knew. I met him quite by chance walking down into the town.”
He leaned forward over his desk and stared owlishly into Mr. Reeder’s eyes.
“You have come about Ravini, have you not? Do not answer me: I see that you have! Naturally, one did not expect you to carry, so to speak, your heart on your sleeve. Am I right? I think I am.”
Mr. Reeder did not confirm this conclusion. He seemed strangely unwilling to speak, and in ordinary circumstances Mr. Daver would not have resented this diffidence.
“Very naturally I do not wish a scandal to attach to this house,” he said, “and I may rely upon your discretion. The only matter which touches me is that Ravini left without paying his bill: a small and unimportant aspect of what may possibly be a momentous case. You see my point of view? I am certain that you do.”
He paused, and now Mr. Reeder spoke.
“At a quarter to five,” he said thoughtfully, as though speaking to himself, “it was scarcely light, was it?”
“The dawn was possibly breaking o’er the sea,” said Mr. Daver poetically.
“Going to Siltbury? Carrying his bag?”
Mr. Daver nodded.
“May I see his room?”
Daver came to his feet with a flourish.
“That is a request I expected, and it is a reasonable request. Will you follow me?”
Mr. Reeder followed him through the great hall, which was occupied solely by a military-looking gentleman, who cast a quick sidelong glance at him as he passed. Mr. Daver was leading the way to the wide stairs when Mr. Reeder stopped and pointed.
“How very interesting!” he said.
The most unlikely things interested Mr. Reeder. On this occasion the point of interest was a large safe—larger than any safe he had seen in a private establishment. It was six feet in height and half that in width, and it was fitted under the first flight of stairs.
“What is it?” asked Mr. Daver, and turned back, His face screwed up into a smile when he saw the object of the detective’s attention.
“Ah! My safe! I have many rare and valuable documents which I keep here. It is a French model, you will observe—too large for my modest establishment, you will say? I agree. Sometimes, however, we have very rich people staying here—jewels and the like—it would take a very clever burglar to open that, and yet I, with a little key—”
He drew a chain from his pocket and fitted one of the keys at the end into a thin keyhole, turned a handle, and the heavy door swung open.
Mr. Reeder peeped in curiously. On the two steel shelves at the back of the safe were three small tin boxes—otherwise, the safe was empty. The doors were of an extraordinary thickness, and their inner face smooth except for a slab of steel the object of which apparently was to back and strengthen the lock. All this he saw at once, but he saw something else. The white enamelled floor of the safe was brighter in hue than the walls. Only a man of Mr. Reeder’s powers of observation would have noticed this fact. And the steel slab at the back of the lock? Mr. Reeder knew quite a lot about safes.
“A treasure house—it almost makes me feel rich,” chuckled Mr. Daver as he locked the door and led the way up the stairs. “The psychology of it will appeal to you, Mr. Reeder!”
At the head of the stairs they came to a broad corridor; Daver, stopping before the door of No. 7, inserted a key.
“This is also your room,” he explained. “I had a feeling, which amounted almost to a certainty, that your visit was not wholly unconnected with this curious disappearance of Mr. Ravini, who left without paying his bill.” He chuckled a little and apologized. “Excuse me for my insistence upon this point, but it touches me rather nearly.”
Mr. Reeder followed his host into the big room. It was panelled from ceiling to floor and furnished with a luxury which surprised him. The articles of furniture were few, but there was not one which a connoisseur would not have noted with admiration. The four-poster bed was Jacobean; the square of carpet was genuine Teheran; a tallboy and dressing table with a settee before it were also of the Jacobean period.
“That was his bed, where the pajamas were found.”
Mr. Daver pointed dramatically. But Mr. Reeder was looking at the casement windows, one of which was open.
He leaned out and looked down, and immediately began to take in the view. He could see Siltbury lying in the shadow of the downs, its lights just then beginning to twinkle; but the view of the Siltbury road was shut out by a belt of firs. To the left he had a glimpse of the hill road up which his cab had climbed.
Mr. Reeder came out from the room and cast his eyes up and down the corridor.
“This is a very beautiful house you have, Mr. Daver,” he said.
“You like it? I was sure you would!” said Mr. Daver enthusiastically. “Yes, it is a delightful property. To you it may seem a sacrilege that I should use it as a boarding house, but perhaps our dear young friend Miss Belman has explained that it is a hobby of mine. I hate loneliness; I dislike intensely the exertion of making friends. My position is unique; I can pick and choose my guests.”
Mr. Reeder was looking aimlessly toward the head of the stairs.
“Did you ever have a guest named Holden?” he asked.
Mr. Daver shook his head.
“Or a guest named Willington? Two friends of mine who may have come here about eight years ago?”
“No,” said Mr. Daver promptly. “I never forget names. You may inspect our guest list for the past twelve years at any time you wish. Would they be likely to come for any reason”—Mr. Daver was amusingly embarrassed—“in other names than
