“Hardly,” said Peter drily, as the other spread out his hands before him. “What is the matter with your little finger?” he asked, after a scrutiny. Jamieson Steele examined the finger and laughed. “He is not very big, is he?” he laughed. “Arrested development, I suppose. It is the one blemish on an otherwise perfect body.” “Where have you been to-night?” asked Peter quietly. “I have been to various places, including Scotland Yard?” was the staggering reply. “To Scotland Yard?” asked Peter incredulously, and Jamieson Steele nodded. “The fact is, I wanted to see you about the curious charge which Lord Claythorpe brings forward from time to time; and also I felt that some explanation was due to you as you are in charge of a case which nearly affects my wife, as to the reason I did a bolt when Claythorpe brought this charge of forgery against me.” “What time did you leave the Yard?” “About half an hour ago,” said Steele. Peter looked at him closely. He was wearing an ordinary lounge suit, and a soft shirt. The hand which had come upon the table had undoubtedly been encased in a stiff cuff and a black sleeve. “Why, what is the matter?” asked Steele. “There has been a robbery at the Ritz Carlton to-night,” Peter explained. “A man dressed as a waiter has stolen an emerald necklace.” “And naturally you suspect me,” he said ironically. “Well, you’re at liberty to search this apartment.” “May I see your dress clothes?” said Peter. For answer, the other led him to his bedroom, and his dress suit was discovered at the bottom of a trunk, carefully folded and brushed. “Now,” said Peter, “if you don’t mind, I’ll conduct the search you suggest. You understand that I have no authority to do so, and I can only make the search with your permission.” “You have my permission,” said the other. “I realise that I am a suspected person, so go ahead, and don’t mind hurting my feelings.” Peter’s search was thorough, but revealed nothing of importance. “This is my wife’s room,” said Steele. “Perhaps you would like to search that?” “I should,” said Peter Dawes, without hesitation, but again his investigations drew blank. He opened all the windows of the room, feeling along the window-sills for a tape, cord or thread, from which an emerald necklace might be suspended. It was an old trick to fasten a stolen article to a black thread, and the black thread to some stout gummed paper fastened to the window-sill; but here again he discovered nothing. “Now,” said the cheerful young man, “you had better search me.” “I might as well do the job thoroughly,” agreed Peter, and ran his hands scientifically over the other’s body.