“If you want my candid opinion,” said Alec carefully, after a little pause, “I think that you’re making mountains out of molehills. In other words, attaching too much importance to trifles. After all, when you come to think of it there’s nothing particularly serious in any of the things you mentioned, is there? And you can’t tell; there may be a perfectly innocent explanation even for Jefferson and Mrs. Plant.”
Roger smoked thoughtfully for a minute or two.
“There may be, of course,” he said at length; “in fact, I hope to goodness there is. But as for the rest, I agree with you that they’re only molehills in themselves; but don’t forget that if you pile sufficient molehills on top of each other you get a mountain. And that’s what I can’t help thinking is the case here. Separately these little facts are nothing; but collectively they make me wonder rather furiously.”
Alec shrugged his shoulders. “Curiosity killed the cat,” he remarked pointedly.
“Possibly,” Roger laughed. “But I’m not a cat, and I thrive on it. Anyway, my mind’s made up on one point. I’m going to nose round and just see whether there isn’t any more to be found out. I liked old Stanworth, and as long as it seems to me that there’s the least possibility of his having been—” He checked himself abruptly. “Of all not being quite as it should,” he resumed after a momentary pause. “Well, I’m going to make it my business to look into it. Now, what I want to ask you is—will you help me?”
Alec regarded his friend silently for a minute or two, his hand cradling the bowl of the pipe he was smoking.
“Yes,” he announced at length; “on one condition. That whatever you may find out, you won’t take any important steps without telling me. You see, I don’t know that I consider this absolutely playing the game in a way; and I want—”
“You can make yourself easy on that score,” Roger smiled. “If we go into it, we go in together; and I won’t do anything, not only without telling you, but even without your consent. That’s only fair.”
“And you’ll let me know anything you may find out as you go along?” asked Alec suspiciously. “Not keep things up your sleeve, like Holmes did to old Watson?”
“Of course not, my dear chap! If it comes to that, I don’t suppose I could if I wanted to. I must have somebody to confide in.”
“You’ll make a rotten detective, Roger,” Alec grinned. “You gas too much. The best detectives are thin-lipped, hatchet-faced devils who creep about the place not saying a word to anybody.”
“In the storybooks. You bet they don’t in real life. I expect they talk their heads off to their seconds-in-command. It’s so jolly helpful. Holmes must have missed an awful lot by not letting himself go to Watson. For one thing, the very act of talking helps one to clarify one’s own ideas and suggests further ones.”
“Your ideas ought to be pretty clear then,” said Alec rudely.
“And besides,” Roger went on unperturbed, “I’d bet anything that Watson was jolly useful to Holmes. Those absurd theories of the poor old chap’s that Holmes always ridiculed so mercilessly (I wish Watson had been allowed to hit on the truth just once; it would have pleased him so tremendously)—why, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if they didn’t suggest the right idea to Holmes time and time again; but of course, he would never have acknowledged it. Anyhow, the moral is, you talk away for all you’re worth and I’ll do the same. And if we don’t manage to find something out between us, you can write me down an ass. And yourself, too, Alexander!”
VII
The Vase That Wasn’t
“Very well, Sherlock,” said Alec. “And what’s the first move?”
“The library,” Roger replied promptly, and rose to his feet.
Alec followed suit and they turned towards the house.
“What do you expect to find?” asked the latter curiously.
“I’m blessed if I know,” Roger confessed. “In fact, I can’t really say that I actually expect to find anything. I’ve got hopes, of course, but in no definite direction.”
“Bit vague, isn’t it?”
“Thoroughly. That’s the interesting part. All we can do is to look around and try and notice anything at all, however slight, that seems to be just out of the ordinary. Ten to one it won’t mean anything at all; and even if it does, it’s another ten to one that we shan’t be able to see it. But as I said, there’s always hope.”
“But what are we going to look for? Things connected with the people you mentioned; or just—well, just things?”
“Anything! Anything and everything, and trust to luck. Now step quietly over this bit of gravel. We don’t want everyone to know that we’re nosing around in here.”
They stepped carefully over the path and entered the library. It was empty, but the door into the hall was slightly ajar. Roger crossed the room and closed it. Then he looked carefully round him.
“Where do we start operations?” Alec asked with interest.
“Well,” Roger said slowly, “I’m just trying to get a general sort of impression. This is really the first time we’ve been able to look round in peace, you know.”
“What sort of impression?”
Roger considered. “It’s rather hard to put into words exactly; but I’ve got a more or less retentive sort of mind. I mean, I can look at a thing or a place and carry the picture in my brain for quite a time. I’ve trained myself to it. It’s jolly useful for storing up ideas for descriptions of scenery and that sort of thing. Photographic, you might call it. Well, it struck me that if there had been any important alteration in this room during the last few hours—if the position of the safe had been altered,
