“Whichever you liked best, sir. They’re much the same. If there’d been any difference he’d have given you the best one.”
“Quite so. I’m beginning to see him better. Now go on, constable. He’d have been easy and natural, too, if I can gauge him. He’d just have met me in his shirtsleeves as he used to meet you? No fuss?”
“He’d have made no fuss, sir. But he’d have put on his jacket for you, you being a strange gentleman coming to his house on a special visit; and perhaps he’d have offered you a cup of tea if the time was right for it.”
“And if it was later in the evening? Some whiskey, if he had any?”
“No, sir. Peter was a strong teetotaller.”
Sir Clinton glanced over the dresser on which all the dishes were neatly stacked.
“He was a tidy man, I see?”
“Very, sir. Always had everything shipshape. He never could bear to have things lying about. Sometimes he used to anger me because he’d wash up his tea-things when I wanted to talk to him. Of course, if it had been you, I expect he’d wait till you’d gone. It wouldn’t have been polite to wash up with a stranger there.”
“You’re helping me a great deal, constable,” said Sir Clinton encouragingly. “Now, another thing. I suppose he must have saved some money. He seems to have lived very simply—no expenses to speak of?”
“That’s right, sir. He put all he could spare into the savings-bank at the post office. All he kept in the house was what he needed to buy things in the village.”
“So I expected. You see how well you’ve pictured him, constable. Now where did he keep his money—his loose cash?”
“In that drawer in the dresser,” the constable said, pointing to one of the larger drawers which had a lock on it. “He carried the key about with him.”
“See if you can get the key, inspector, please. You’ll find it in his pocket, I expect.”
Armadale produced the key almost at once, and Sir Clinton opened the drawer. As he did so, the constable uttered a cry of astonishment. Wendover, leaning forward, saw that the drawer held more than a little money—some silver articles were in it as well.
Sir Clinton warned them back with a gesture.
“Don’t touch. We may have to look for fingerprints here. These things seem to have a crest on them,” he continued, after scrutinising them.
“That’s the Foxhills’ mark, sir,” the constable hastened to explain. “But it beats me what Peter Hay was doing with these things. That one there”—he pointed it out—“comes from the Foxhills’ drawing-room. I remember seeing it, one time Peter and I went round the house when he was shutting the windows for the night. It’s valuable, isn’t it, sir? Peter told me these things were worth something—quite apart from the silver in them—and I suppose he’d learned that from somebody or other—one of the family, most like.”
Sir Clinton left the silver articles alone and picked up the money which lay in one corner of the drawer.
“One pound seven and four pence ha’penny. Would that be more or less what you’d expect to see here, constable?”
“Somewhere round about that, sir, seeing it’s this time in the week.”
Sir Clinton idly picked up the savings-bank book, looked at the total of the balance, and put the book down again. Evidently it suggested nothing in particular.
“I think you’d better take charge of these ornaments, inspector, and see if you can make anything out of them in the way of fingerprints. Handle them carefully. Wait a moment! I want to have a look at them.”
The inspector moved forward.
“I may be short of chalk, sir, but I’ve a pair of rubber gloves in my pocket,” he announced with an air of suppressed triumph. “I’ll lift the things out on to the table for you, and you can look at them there.”
Slipping on his gloves, he picked up the articles gingerly and carried them across to the table. Sir Clinton followed and, bending over them, subjected them to a very careful scrutiny.
“See anything there?” he demanded, giving way at last to the inspector.
After Armadale had examined the silver surfaces from every direction, Wendover had his turn. When he raised himself again, he shook his head. Sir Clinton glanced at the inspector, who also made a negative gesture.
“Then we all see the same,” Sir Clinton said finally. “One might assume from that, without overstraining probability, one thing at least.”
“And that is?” demanded Wendover, forestalling the inspector.
“That there’s nothing there to see,” Sir Clinton observed mildly. “I thought you’d have noticed that for yourself, squire.”
Behind Wendover’s back the inspector enjoyed his discomfiture, thanking providence the while that he had not had time to put the question himself. The chief constable turned to Sapcote.
“I suppose Peter Hay kept the keys of Foxhills—those that he needed, at any rate—somewhere handy?”
“He kept them in his pocket, always, sir; a small bunch of Yale keys on a ring, I remember.”
“You might get them, inspector, I think we’d better go up there next and see if we can find anything worth noting. But, of course, we can’t go rushing in there without permission.”
He turned back to Sapcote:
“Go off now, constable, as soon as we’ve locked up this place, and get hold of some of the Foxhills people who are staying at the hotel. Ask them to come up here. Tell them we want to go over Foxhills on account of something that’s been taken from the house. Explain about things, but don’t make a long yarn of it, remember. Then leave a message for Dr. Rafford to say that we’ll probably need a P.M. When you come up here again, you’d better bring a cart to take away these beasts in their cages.”
He gave
