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because he’d neither shaved nor washed his teeth. His razor and tooth-brush have not been unpacked.”
    â€œThat’s brilliant but problematical,” remarked Vereker quietly, “because I know Lord Bygrave’s habits, and he always put his toilet articles back in his bag after using them when staying at an hotel.”
    â€œThen how did you infer that Lord Bygrave was in a hurry?” asked the inspector, glancing with interest at Mr. Algernon Vereker, who seemed lost in profound thought.
    â€œMary Standish told me,” replied the amateur dryly, though I should have discovered it in any case from the fact that he forgot to put his ring on again after his ablutions. A man who habitually wears a ring must be in a hurry to omit so accustomed an action as resuming it after washing.
    â€œAh, you’ve heard all about the ring?”
    â€œYes, I’ve seen the ring all right. It was one of the first things Lawless spoke about when I arrived, and he knew I was on the trail.”
    â€œAnything else you can see?” asked the inspector.
    â€œM’yes—I estimate that Lord Bygrave smoked about an ounce of tobacco a day. That pound tin had to last him the fortnight. However, this is art for art’s sake—it won’t help us much. I also feel sure I shall finish the tin for him, unless he turns up and takes possession. I’m rather fond of this brand; it’s the only tobacco old Henry could enjoy.” Vereker produced an outsize in briars and began to plug it.
    Inspector Heather had now completed his notes and, rising from the floor on which he had been kneeling, made a keen survey of the room. Vereker also flung a searching glance in every direction.
    â€œAnother beautiful but useless discovery,” he remarked. “Bygrave smoked a pipe of tobacco before going to bed or just before breakfast. He has knocked his pipe out in the fender, and there’s the dottle.”
    Picking up the dottle between finger and thumb, Vereker showed it to the inspector and then flung it back into the fire-place.
    The police officer walked over to a small writing-table and examined the blotting-pad lying on it. It had never been used, for not a mark was on its white surface save the price lead-pencilled in the corner.
    â€œNot much to be learned here,” he said. “I’ll now see Miss Standish and learn what she can tell me.”
    â€œLunch with me, inspector. I have ordered for both of us. Standish waits on us, and you can then cross-question her. The beer here is most excellent—I’m afraid it has biased me in Lawless’s favour. I’ve almost ceased to suspect him of complicity in this business. Yet there’s the cellar to be searched. I ought to have gone down and made a thorough investigation—before tasting the beer. By the way, do you want to examine the contents of that kit-bag again?”
    â€œNo, I think I’ve done with that,” replied the inspector.
    â€œThen I’ll lock it,” said Vereker, and taking out the bunch of keys, which had been thrust back into the bag, he locked it and slipped the bunch into his own pocket. “And now for lunch and beakers with beaded bubbles winking at the brim.”
    The two men descended to the dining-room, where George Lawless had done his best to have an appetizing lunch laid for his guests.

Chapter Three
    Inspector Heather and Algernon Vereker sat down to a plain but substantial meal as devised by a man (with a healthy hunger) for hungry men. There was an excellent sirloin of beef, and Mary Standish had built up a salad with a sound foundation of beetroot, lettuces, onions and hard-boiled eggs, with an admixture of good Hartwood cream, and a crowning note of refinement in a nasturtium blossom or two.
    â€œThis is altogether delightful,” remarked Vereker enthusiastically. “It’s an age since I ate nasturtium flowers—they’re a delicious adjunct to a