Sir Clinton and Wendover in turn examined the find. The chief constable tested the weight of the sack and its contents. “Not much of a haul,” he said, letting it settle to the floor again. “Taking pure silver at eight shillings an ounce, and allowing for alloy, there's less than twenty pounds' worth there—much less.” “I suppose this means that the thieves must have been disturbed, and left their swag behind them,” Paul Fordingbridge suggested. Sir Clinton seemed intent on an examination of the window-fastenings; but Inspector Armadale curtly agreed with Paul Fordingbridge's hypothesis. “It looks like it.” The chief constable led the way to a fresh room. “What's this?” he asked. Miss Fordingbridge seemed suddenly to take a keener interest in the search. “This is my nephew's room. I do hope they haven't disturbed anything in it. I've been so careful to keep it exactly as it used to be. And it would be such a pity if it were disturbed just at the very moment when he's come back.” Sir Clinton's eye caught an expression of vexation on Paul Fordingbridge's face as his sister spoke of her nephew. “He's been away, then?” he asked. It required very little to start Miss Fordingbridge on the subject; and in a few minutes of eager explanation she had laid before them the whole matter of her missing relation. As her narrative proceeded, Sir Clinton could see the expression of annoyance deepening on her brother's features. “And so you understand, Sir Clinton, I kept everything in his room just as it used to be; so that when he comes back again he'll find nothing strange. It'll just be as if he'd only left us for a week-end.” Wendover noticed something pathetic in her attitude. For a moment the normal angularity and fussiness seemed to have left her manner. “Poor soul!” he reflected. “Another case of unsatisfied maternity, I suppose. She seems to have adored this nephew of hers.” Paul Fordingbridge seemed to think that enough time had been spent on the family's private affairs. “Is there anything more that you'd care to see?” he asked Sir Clinton, in an indifferent tone. The chief constable seemed to have been interested in Miss Fordingbridge's tale. “Just a moment,” he said half-apologetically to Paul Fordingbridge. “I'd like to be sure about one or two points.” He crossed the room and examined the window-catches with some care. “Now, Miss Fordingbridge,” he said, as he turned back after finding the fastenings intact like the others, “this is a room which you're sure to remember accurately, since you say you looked after it yourself. Can you see anything missing from it?” Miss Fordingbridge gazed from point to point, checking the various objects from her mental inventory. “Yes,” she said suddenly, “there's a small silver inkstand missing from his desk.” “I saw an inkstand in the sack,” Armadale confirmed. Sir Clinton nodded approvingly. “Anything else, Miss Fordingbridge?”