Ellery drew Woodman’s photograph from his pocket. “Have you ever seen this gentleman?” he asked. But the porter did not remember. He might have, or he might not. So many gentlemen came to the Avenue, and he was not continuously in the cloak room. The lady at the cash desk would be more likely to remember. She was a rare one for faces. Cautioning the man to take the greatest care of the hat and coat until the police came, Ellery rejoined Joan in the restaurant upstairs and told her of his success. They determined to see the manager, and take further precautions against the disappearance of George Brooklyn’s clothes. Joan had selected a table in an alcove, at which it was possible to talk quietly without being overheard, and, through the head waiter, Ellery got the manager to come and join them there. They told him, in confidence, the greater part of the story, names and all, except that they did not give Carter Woodman’s name. The manager promised that the coat and hat should be kept safely, and given up only to the police. He then sent for the cashier, to whom Woodman’s photograph was shown; but she did not remember his face, and was inclined to be positive that he had not really lunched there on that day. The waiters were then called in turn and shown the photograph; but none of them remembered having seen Woodman. The manager seemed to regard this as conclusive evidence that he had not lunched in the restaurant. “Of course,” said Ellery, “he may have lunched here and not been noticed. But I’m inclined to believe he didn’t lunch here at all. There was nothing to stop him from walking straight into the cloak room, and then going right away as if he had lunched without coming into the restaurant at all. I wonder how Moorman knew he lunched here that day?” “We can’t ask him that without putting him on his guard,” said Joan. “But what we have is good enough. And we can make Moorman speak out later, if it becomes necessary.” The manager had by this time left them, and they were discussing the situation alone. Suddenly Ellery broke in on something that Joan was saying. “By Jove,” he said, “I’ve just remembered. What a fool I am not to have thought of it before.” “What is it this time?” “Why, you remember those finger-prints of Prinsep’s that were on the club George was killed with. I know how they got there. When we were in the garden before dinner I saw Prinsep take down that club from the statue, and swing it about. He was showing it to—whom do you think?” “Not Carter Woodman?” “Yes, Woodman. That must have given him the idea of using the club. He may have remembered that it would probably have Prinsep’s finger-marks on it.” “Yes, but if he used it afterwards it would have his marks too.”