"Good," said Quarles. "Now let us look at the dining-room. Nothing has been moved, I suppose." "It's just as we found it last night," Baker returned. It was a well-furnished room. An easy chair was close to the hearth, and an ordinary chair was turned sideways to the table. A swivel-chair was pushed back from the writing-table, which was in the window, and the telephone, which evidently stood on this table as a rule, was hanging over it, suspended by the cord, the receiver being upon its hook. The telephone directory lay open on the blotting-pad. For some time Quarles was interested in the telephone, the directory, and the pad, then he turned to take in the general aspect of the room. "Some man was here, evidently," I said, pointing to the ashes on the tiled hearth, "and was smoking. It looks as if he had smoked at his ease for some time." "Seated in one of those chairs probably," said Quarles. "Some ash is on the writing-table, too." He took up a sheet of paper and scooped up a little of the ash from the hearth and examined it under his lens; and, having done this, he raked about in the cinders, but found nothing to interest him. "I want a cigarette-end," he said, looking first in the coal-box, then along the mantelpiece and in the little ornaments there, and, finally, in the paper basket. "Ah, here is one. Thrown here, it suggests that the smoker might have been seated at the table, doesn't it? We progress, Wigan; we progress." It was always impossible to tell whether the professor's remarks expressed his real opinion, or whether they were merely careless words spoken while his mind was busy in an altogether different direction. I hardly saw where our progression came in. I examined the carpet. If anyone had entered in a hurry to kidnap Mrs. Fitzroy he would not have spent much time in wiping his boots. I found a little soil on the hearthrug and by the writing-table. I pointed it out to the professor, who was still looking at the cigarette which lay in the palm of his hand. "Yes, very interesting," said Quarles. "I expect the man came by way of the garden and brought a little earth from that pathway with him. What do you make of this cigarette?" "A cheap kind. Perhaps the lady smokes." "We'll ask the servant. By the way, Baker, do you happen to know Mrs. Fitzroy?" "I've seen a lady come out of this house on one or two occasions," answered the constable. "I described her to the servant, and have no doubt it was Mrs. Fitzroy. She is rather good-looking, fifty or thereabouts, but takes some pains to appear younger, I fancy." "You are observant," Quarles remarked. "Shall we have the servant in, Wigan?"