Inspector Oxtoby came back in a hurry. “My oath, Mr. Fortune, you’ve put us on the right man,” he said. “Look what the beggar had on him.” It was a small gold cigarette-case. It bore the monogram S.S., and inside was engraved “Sylvia from Bingo.” “That’s done him in,” said Bell. “Any explanation?” “He wouldn’t say a word. Barring that he cursed freely. No, Mr. Albert Edward Loveday wants to see his solicitor. He knows something.” “Yes. Yes, I wonder what it is?” Reggie murmured. “He had some pawn-tickets for jewellery too. Pretty heavy stuff. We’ll have to follow that up. And a hundred and fifty quid--some clean notes, some deuced dirty.” Bell laughed grimly. “He’s done himself proud, hasn’t he?” “Some clean, some dirty,” Reggie repeated. “He got the dirty ones from the pawnbroker. Where did he get the clean ones? Still several unknown quantities in the equation.” “How’s that, sir?” said Inspector Oxtoby. “Well, there’s the body, for instance,” said Reggie mildly. “We lack the body. You know, I think we might ask Miss Darcourt to say a few words. Send a man up in a car to tell her she’s wanted at the police-station, because her chauffeur has been arrested. I should think she’ll come.” “That’s the stuff!” Inspector Oxtoby chuckled and set about it. “You always had a notion she knew something, sir,” said Bell reverently. “I wonder,” Reggie murmured. She did come. The little room seemed suddenly crowded, so large was the gold pattern on her black cloak, so complex her sinuous movements, as she glided in and sat down. She smiled at them, and certainly she had been handsome. From a white face dark eyes glittered, very big eyes, all pupil. “Oh, my aunt,” said Reggie to himself, “drugged.” “Miss Rose Darcourt?” Inspector Oxtoby’s pen scratched. “Thank you, madam. Your chauffeur Albert Edward Loveday (that’s right?) has been arrested loitering about Miss Sheridan’s house. He was found in possession of Miss Sheridan’s gold cigarette-case. Can you explain that?” “I? Why should I explain it? I know nothing about it.” “The man is in your service, madam.” “Yes, and he is a very good chauffeur. What then? Why should you arrest him?” She talked very fast. “I don’t understand it at all. I don’t understand what you want me to say.” “Only the truth,” said Reggie gently out of the shadow. “What do you mean by the truth? I know nothing about what he had. I can’t imagine, I can’t conceive”--her voice went up high--“how he could have Miss Sheridan’s cigarette-case. If he really had.” “Oh, he had it all right,” said Inspector Oxtoby. “Why, then perhaps she gave it him.” She laughed so suddenly that the men looked at each other. “Have you asked him? What did he say? I know nothing about Miss Sheridan.” “You can tell us nothing?” said Reggie. “What should I tell you?” she cried.