Anthony, meanwhile, was still at work in the library, finding Peter Daventry a highly appreciative audience. “The important features of the case as I see them are these, Daventry. (a) The one shot fired from Stewart’s revolver and the taking of that revolver by Clegg from the _left-hand_ pocket of Stewart’s dressing-gown. (b) The use of Patrick O’Connor’s bicycle some time during the evening or some time during the night. (c) The message left by the dead man with its reference to ‘M. L.’ (d) The dirty condition of the ink in the ink-bowl. (e) The apparently impossible conditions under which the murder was committed—the room is locked on the inside at both exits.” He blew a cloud of smoke from his cigarette. “Add to that the somewhat unusual and rather absorbing detail—the fascination for Stuart antiques, themselves associated with a particularly brutal murder in London almost contemporaneously—and we have all the ingredients for as pretty a problem as ever was.” Then suddenly a thought seemed to strike him. “By Jove,” he said, “that coal cabinet, Daventry. I wonder if it’s worth while looking in there—it’s just possible the murderer may have——” He dashed across to the coal cabinet. It was of the type that swung outwards on a hinge. He pulled it towards him. Then he knelt down in front of it. Taking a sheet of note-paper from his pocket, he very carefully picked out some objects from the contents of the scuttle. Daventry wasn’t able to see what they were as Anthony placed them on the piece of paper. He couldn’t restrain his curiosity any longer. “What is it, Bathurst? What have you found in there?” “A long shot,” chuckled Anthony, “but it’s happened to have come off.” He held the paper out to his companion. “It struck me when I looked at that coal-scuttle just now, that a person clearing little pieces of dirt and mud from the surface of that table”—he pointed to the desk where Stewart had been found dead—“might very easily dispose of them in the scuttle—it might well be the handiest and most convenient place—look here then!” Daventry looked at the paper held out on the palm of Anthony’s hand. There were seven or eight dried pellets of mud and four small light brown stones such as may be found in any garden. Anthony went on with his explanation. “There isn’t very much coal there—as you may see if you look—fires have been discontinued for some time now, I expect—so it didn’t give me very much trouble to find these chaps.” He smiled with infinite satisfaction, but Peter Daventry wasn’t too clear at all. “I can understand that part of the business,” he conceded—“where I’m floundering is over the part of the affair before we come to that. I haven’t the foggiest notion how you ever deduced their existence!”