“Well, there again—it’s hard to say, definitely. But in my opinion she was pretty savage about the incident. She certainly tried to joke it off to the waiters, but I’m fairly confident she chewed the merchant’s ear off a bit—looked to me like it,” he affirmed. Bathurst nodded. “I thought perhaps the truest indication of the value of the incident might be supplied by the conduct of the woman.” He spoke to Inspector Goodall. “Sherlock Holmes has laid it down, Inspector, that in moments of sudden alarm and anxiety, a single woman rushes for her jewel case—a married woman for her baby. This incident throws a further light on the question. It may be added now that the married woman on occasion gives her husband wordy castigation—as the present-day ‘argot’ would put it—she ‘ticks him off’!” He smiled. “Don’t you think so?” “I don’t know that this particular pair represented husband and wife, Mr. Bathurst,” protested Goodall. “I wouldn’t bank on the marriage certificate, myself, Inspector,” returned Anthony. “But there is just this to be said for what Daventry has told us. A woman crops up in two of our little scenes. There’s a woman in this incident and there’s the woman whose thirst for information took her to Day, Forshaw and Palmers’ at the identical moment when Mason and Druce, the two night-watchmen, were changing shifts.” He thought for a moment or two. “It’s certainly a point to be considered,” he concluded. “There aren’t many ‘crooks’ that haven’t a woman in tow, nowadays,” declared Goodall. “The equality of the sexes has become very far-reaching. Still it’s deuced smart work for the same gang to have pulled off both these jobs—I can’t quite take that in myself—not yet.” “Who’s in charge of the case down here?” queried Anthony. “Anybody you’ve run against before?” Goodall shook his head. “A Sergeant Clegg was called to Assynton Lodge this morning—he’s the local man—he’s at Assynton. They ’phoned to ‘the Yard’ this afternoon—felt the case was a nasty one—likely to prove too big for friend Clegg. When the news reached me I told our people of Mr. Linnell’s information which seemed to link up the two cases, and it was decided then and there that I should come down.” He rubbed his cheek with his forefinger. “About twenty-four hours late,” he murmured as a kind of afterthought. “The scent cold—another man—possibly with an assistant or two—done his best to destroy most of the things that might help one—talk about ‘locking the door behind the stolen steed’—can you beat it?” “Not too helpful, I admit, Inspector,” argued Anthony. “Still, even now there may be something to pick up—you never know—there’s always the ‘human element’ to be considered in every case.”