“You didn’t think to look for the necklace?” “No,” she said with a little gasp; “if I only had!” “And—er—you didn’t happen to hear a clinking noise, did you?” “No.” “After he’d got into the room he’d put the key up, wouldn’t he?” suggested Kirby. “You’re assuming that he had a key.” “Of course he had a key. The guest across the ball saw him trying it on the other doors and heard it clink against the lock.” “If he had a key to this room why did he try it on several other doors first?” propounded Average Jones. “As for the clinking noise, in which I’m a good deal interested—may I look at your key, Mrs. Hale?” She handed it to him. He tried it on the lock, outside, jabbing at the metal setting. The resultant sound was dull and wooden. “Not much of the clink which our friend describes as having heard, is it?” he remarked. “Then how could he get into my room?” cried Mrs. Hale. “Are you sure your door was locked?” “Certain. As soon as I missed the necklace I looked at the catch.” “That was in the morning. But the night before?” “I always slip the spring. And I know I did this time because it had been left unsprung so that Mr. Kirby’s mother could come in and out of my sitting-room, and I remember springing it when she left for bed.” “Sometimes these locks don’t work.” Slipping the catch back, Average Jones pressed the lever down. There was a click, but the ward failed to slip. At the second attempt the lock worked. But repeated trials proved that more than half the time the door did not lock. “So,” observed Average Jones, “I think we may dismiss the key theory.” “But the locked door this morning?” cried Mrs. Hale. “The intruder may have done that as he left.” “I don’t see why,” protested Kirby, in a tone which indicated a waning faith in Jones. “By way of confusing the trail. Possibly he hoped to suggest that he’d escaped by the fire-escape. Presumably he was on the balcony when Mrs. Hale came out into this room.” As he spoke Average Jones laid a hand on the heavy net curtains which hung before the balcony window. Instead of parting them, however, he stood with upturned eyes. “Was that curtain torn before yesterday?” he asked Mrs. Hale. “I hardly think so. The hotel people are very, careful in the up-keep of the rooms.” Jones mounted a chair with scant respect for the upholstery, and examined the damaged drapery. Descending, he tugged tentatively at the other curtain, first with his right hand, then with his left; then with both. The fabric gave a little at the last test. Jones disappeared through the window. When he returned, after five minutes, he held in his hand some scrapings of the rusted iron which formed the balcony railing. “You’re a mining man, Mr. Kirby,” he said. “Would you say that assayed anything?” Kirby examined the glinting particles. “Gold,” he said decisively. “Ah, then the necklace rubbed with some violence against the railing. Now, Mrs. Hale, how long were you awake?”