The sergeant was respectfully affable (Mr. Fortune is much petted by subordinates) and it took some time to reach the bag. When Ascot and the early peas and the sergeant’s daughter’s young man had been critically estimated, Mr. Fortune said that he was only calling on the lost property department to leave a lady’s bag. “I just picked it out of the river,” Reggie explained. “No value to anybody but the owner. Seems to belong to Miss Sylvia Sheridan. She’s a house down here, hasn’t she? You might let her know.” The sergeant stared at Mr. Fortune and breathed hard. “What makes you say that, sir?” “Say what?” “Beg pardon, sir. You’d better see the inspector.” And the sergeant tumbled out of the room. The inspector was flurried. “Mr. Fortune? Very glad to see you, sir. Sort of providential your coming in like this. Won’t you sit down, sir? This is a queer start. Where might you have found her bag, Mr. Fortune?” “About a mile above the bridge,” Reggie opened his eyes. “Against the reed bank below Miss Darcourt’s boat-house.” Inspector Oxtoby whistled. “That’s above Miss Sheridan’s cottage.” He looked knowing. “Things don’t float upstream, Mr. Fortune.” “It’s not usual. Why does that worry you?” “Miss Sheridan’s missing, Mr. Fortune. I’ve just had her housekeeper in giving information. Miss Sheridan went out last night and hasn’t been seen since. Now you’ve picked up her bag in the river above her house. It’s a queer start, isn’t it?” “But only a start,” said Reggie gently. “We’re not even sure the bag is hers. The handkerchiefs in it are marked S. Sheridan. But some women have a way of gleaning other women’s handkerchiefs. Her housekeeper ought to know her bag. Did her housekeeper know why she went out?” “No, sir. That’s one of the things that rattled her. Miss Sheridan went out after dinner alone, walking. They thought she was in the garden and went to bed. In the morning she wasn’t in the house. She wasn’t in the garden either.” “And that’s that,” said Reggie. “Better let them know at Scotland Yard. They like work.” And he rose to go. It was plain that he had disappointed Inspector Oxtoby, who asked rather plaintively if there was anything Mr. Fortune could suggest. “I should ask her friends, you know,” said Mr. Fortune, wandering dreamily to the door. “I should have a look at her house. There may be something in it,” and he left the inspector gaping. Reggie Fortune is one of the few people in England who like going to the theatre. The others, as you must have noticed, like this kind of play or that. Mr. Fortune has an impartial and curious mind and tries everything. He had therefore formed opinions of Sylvia Sheridan and Rose Darcourt which are not commonly held. For he was unable to take either of them seriously. This hampered him, and he calls the case one of his failures.