It was very evident that the inspector was considerably puzzled, not to say upset, by the disappearance of the tobacco-box, and I fancied that I saw the real reason of his discomfiture. He had poohpoohed Mr. Cazalette's almost senile eagerness about the thing, treating his request as of no importance; now he suddenly discovered that somebody had conceived a remarkable interest in the tobacco-box and had cleverly annexed it--under his very eyes--and he was angry with himself for his lack of care and perception. I was not indisposed to banter him a little. "The second of your questions might be easily answered," I said. "The thing has been appropriated because somebody believes, as Mr. Cazalette evidently does, or did, that there may be a clue in those scratches, or marks, on the inside of the lid. But as to who it was that believed this, and managed to secrete the box--that's a far different matter!" He was thinking, and presently he nodded his head. "I can call to mind everybody who sat round that table, where these things were laid out," he remarked, confidently. "There were two or three officials, like myself. There was our surgeon and Dr. Lorrimore. Two or three of the country gentlemen--all magistrates; all well known to me. And at the foot of the table there were a couple of reporters: I know them, too, well enough. Now, who, out of that lot, would be likely to steal--for that's what it comes to--this tobacco-box? A thing that had scarcely been mentioned--if at all--during the proceedings!" "Well, I don't know," I remarked. "But you're forgetting one thing, inspector. That's--curiosity!" He looked at me blankly--clearly, he did not understand. Neither, I saw, did Miss Raven. "There are some people," I continued, "who have an itching--perhaps a morbid--desire to collect and possess relics, mementoes of crime and criminals. I know a man who has a cabinet filled with such things--very proud of the fact that he owns a flute which once belonged to Charles Pease; a purse that was found on Frank Muller; a reputed riding-whip of Dick Turpin's and the like. How do you know that one or other of the various men who sat round the table you're talking of hasn't some such mania and appropriated the tobacco-box as a memento of the Ravensdene Court mania?" "I don't know," he replied. "But I don't think it likely: I know the lot of them, more or less, and I think they've all too much sense." "All the same, the thing's gone," I remarked. "And you'll excuse me for saying it--you're a bit concerned by its disappearance."