Baddeley closed the library door behind us and gestured to us to be seated. “I don’t purpose troubling Sir Charles Considine at the moment,” he informed us, “for one or two reasons—but I do feel, gentlemen, that I’ve reached a stage in the investigations of this affair when I’m bound to talk things over with somebody.” He paused and produced his pipe which he proceeded to fill, slowly and deliberately. Then he continued. “Early on, Mr. Bathurst, you had a little joke with me about going fifty-fifty in regard to our discoveries ... well ... it’s like this ... I seem to be properly up against the most baffling set of clues it’s ever been my good fortune—or bad, if you like—to encounter.” He struck a match and lit the tobacco. “In all probability I’ve been able to get information that you haven’t, Mr. Bathurst—that sort of thing’s my job so you’re starting a bit ‘scratch’ as it were—still I’m going to play the game and put all the cards on the table.”

Anthony waved a deprecating hand. “Quite so—Inspector.”

Baddeley eyed him warily—then went on again.
219

“There’s a young fellow murdered and a pearl necklace stolen in the same house on the same night. The robbery is cleared up pretty quickly—thanks to you, Mr. Bathurst—and the question arises—the natural question if I may call it so—what connection, if any, is there between the two?”

Anthony broke in. “Do you want me to answer that?”

Baddeley held up his hand. “Not for the moment, sir! Let me go on for a bit. My reason tells me that there is a connection—because the murdered man was strangled with a shoe-lace, and the man pinched for the robbery has, as far as I can tell—the identical shoe-lace in his pocket. I’m not exactly a scholar, gentlemen, but you can say he’s caught ‘in flagrante delicto.’” He looked at us.

Anthony was smiling. “Go ahead, Inspector,” was all that he said.

“Well, sir—that’s what reason tells me! But instinct tells me just the opposite—I can’t get the times to fit—nothing seems to link up just in the way that it should—and I’ve got a decidedly uneasy feeling that I’ve missed my way somewhere.” He puffed at his pipe. “I’m going to do a lot of talking, gentlemen; can you put up with it?” He proceeded without waiting for our reply.
220

“Usually, there’s a motive sticking out in these cases. But I’m damned if I can find a really satisfactory one here. Robbery? I don’t think so—he had no money on him when he was found—but his chief card winnings hadn’t been paid over, and it isn’t likely he was carrying a very large sum about with him. Robbery for something that he possessed? The I.O.U. for instance? Possibly! Revenge? Again—possibly! But if so for something that has, so far, eluded me. Still—we’ll concede—a distinct possibility. You see—we aren’t nearing probabilities yet. And probabilities are much more satisfactory than mere possibilities. Now there’s that very mysterious piece of work with the Venetian Dagger.”

He stopped again as though to let his words sink well in. Anthony grew very attentive, and I found myself more responsive, so to speak, to the Inspector’s mood.

“The dagger had been used to ‘make sure’ apparently. The murderer was taking no risks—dead men tell no tales—but—and here’s something you probably don’t know, Mr. Bathurst—that Venetian dagger had unmistakable signs of finger-prints.”

Anthony grinned. “It was the dagger, after all, Bill,” he said. Then he addressed Baddeley. “I tumbled to your letter dodge, Inspector,” he explained. “I spotted that you had some prints somewhere and were after an identification. Fire away.” He settled in his chair again. Baddeley gazed at him steadily.

“You miss a hell of a lot. I don’t think,” he muttered. “I fancy I’ve brought my samples to the right market, after all.”

Anthony dismissed the compliment with a wave of the hand. Then came as quickly to the challenging point. “Whose were they?”
221

Baddeley replied very quietly. “They belonged to Major Hornby, Mr. Bathurst.”

This was interesting with a vengeance.

“Really,” said Anthony. “This is very important! Have you approached the Major, or are you holding your hand?”

“I have seen the Major, and informed him of my knowledge.”

“Ah! I am curious to hear what he says.”

“His explanation is that he handled the dagger during the evening.”

“Really.”

“Yes. And what is more, Mr. Bathurst, he is prepared to assert that when he retired for the night, the dagger had been removed from its customary resting-place on the table.”

“Removed from where he had replaced it?”

“Exactly.”

Anthony looked up and studied the Inspector’s face very seriously. “Really—Inspector. Really? This is most illuminating! Taken from the table some time during the evening—eh?” He rubbed his hands. “And do you know, Inspector—do you know—I’m not surprised.”

Baddeley flung him a quizzical glance. “The day that I surprise you, I reckon I’ll surprise myself,” he uttered laconically. “But I’ll go on. I’ve given you one piece of information that I believe you were ignorant of. Now for what happened this morning at the inquest—I fancy you heard a thing or two there for the first time? Am I right?”
222

Anthony pulled at his top lip with his fingers—a favorite trick of his. “You refer to the evidence of Andrew Whitney and the maid, Dennis—I presume?”

Baddeley nodded. “Whitney’s evidence was a stroke of pure good fortune for me. He had seen the account of the case in the papers, read the description of the house, Considine Manor, and knowing of course that his delay occurred in the village of Considine or thereabouts, had no difficulty in recognizing it again when he came to have a second look at it. I tell you I was glad to get my hooks into this piece of evidence, from an absolutely unimpeachable source—but when he swore that the time was past three—well, I was pretty well staggered.” He came right across to us and looked Anthony straight in the face. “Mr. Bathurst, think it over! Dr. Elliott tells us Prescott was killed somewhere about half-past one—perhaps two—‘Spider’ Webb was pulling off his little job of work round about the same time—it all seems to point to a connection between the two—yet I’m not satisfied—I can’t think what was doing in that billiard room after three o’clock that morning.” He stared broodingly at his pipe. Neither Anthony nor I broke the silence—he seemed determined to let Baddeley have his entire say without further interruption.
223

“So much then for Whitney’s evidence. Now we come to Annie Dennis. I am indebted to the butler—Fitch—for getting on to her. When I first questioned her she told me she could tell me nothing. Apparently she had either forgotten the incident or didn’t consider it of sufficient importance to mention. She took it to Fitch who passed it on to me—so I interviewed her. What was a man doing outside the billiard room window at that time—just after nine o’clock—on Friday evening? Once again—was it Webb—or an accomplice of Webb’s? There are too many twists and turns in this for me, Mr. Bathurst. I’m fairly staggered.”

Anthony rose and stretched his long body.
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