Stewart looked somewhat surprised. “It would be some task for you to go through all the things in the Museum Room, Mr. Bathurst—but I believe I am right in saying that Llewellyn has compiled something in the way of a catalogue. You shall see a copy in the morning, if you would care to.” “I should—very much,” responded Anthony. “I have just the glimmering of an idea—that’s all—and I think it’s just possible the catalogue may help me.” He looked at Daventry, who had been trying hard to follow him—unsuccessfully. “What started you off?” inquired Peter—“that key of the Museum Room business? Personally, I can’t see anything much——” Bathurst interrupted. “No—not that, Daventry. I happened to be thinking about ‘M. L.’—that was all.” He rubbed his hands as the idea took shape. “And I’ll lay a guinea to a gooseberry,” he proceeded, “that I’m ‘warm’ as the youngsters say. If I’m not—well, then, we shall have to start all over again.” He smiled at his two companions. “But we sha’n’t have to. You see.” Stewart did not appear to share this piece of optimism—he shook his head rather hopelessly, but Peter Daventry remembered the judgment of his brother Gerald and was able to catch something of the Bathurst tradition. “One last question,” said Anthony. “What was the opinion of the Sergeant who came along this morning about the weapon with which the crime was committed? Did he have any ideas about that, do you know? Did he seem confident of making any arrest?” Stewart dismissed the suggestion immediately it was made. “I was quite unimpressed by him. In fact that was the chief reason why I asked Mr. Daventry’s people to help me and why I suggested Scotland Yard could do worse than have a look at things. I don’t think he formed any ideas about the crime at all! The question you have just raised about the weapon that was used puzzled the Sergeant, I should say, from my observation of him, pretty considerably. There wasn’t a trace of anything!” He seemed to have almost reached his limit of physical endurance, and Anthony was quick to detect it. “Daventry,” he said, “I’m afraid I haven’t shown Mr. Stewart too much consideration—he’s worn out, and I must leave any further questions till to-morrow morning.” He glanced at his wrist-watch. “It’s well past ten and we’re all tired. A good night’s rest will do us all good.” He rose and walked across to his young host with outstretched hand. “Good-night, Mr. Stewart, and my most sincere sympathy! I know it’s easy to say that, but I’ll say something else as well.” He paused for a second and his jaw set with the lines of indomitable purpose. “I have every hope, even at this early stage of the case, of getting the handcuffs on the right wrists—which should comfort you a little!” Stewart was very pale when he answered, and his answer was brief. “Thank you, Mr. Bathurst. Good-night!” Peter added his salutations and they made their way upstairs.