The Honourable Captain looked pleased. “Do you think it is possible that his life was aimed at, after all, Sir Frank?” he added with deference. Sir Frank shook his head. “That possibility is disposed of by the abstraction of the keys. The solution of the mystery lies there. But it is just possible that the thief chose his occasion; that he relied on the Prince’s presence to screen him from too close an inquiry. At all events I find it difficult to accept too many coincidences in the case.” I thought I might venture to raise a different point. “Madame Bonnell had ample time to search the body and remove anything she pleased before Captain Charles came.” My chief shook his head good-naturedly. “I haven’t too high an opinion of Madame’s ethical code, but I think sufficiently well of her intelligence to feel pretty sure that if she had had any use for her partner’s keys they would have been back in his pocket before Captain Charles heard that he was dead.” The remark was unanswerable as far as I was concerned. A moment later the expected message came through from Scotland Yard. The house of Doctor Weathered, of Warwick Street, Cavendish Square, had been entered during the night, and his safe had been found open, with his bunch of keys in it. And the doctor himself was missing. CHAPTER IV THE OPENED SAFE Inspector Charles, I could see, was deeply impressed by the sagacity with which Tarleton had solved the riddle of the dead man’s identity. It was a very simple step, but it is precisely the simple ideas that generally escape the trained mind of the official. “Doctor Weathered,” the Captain pronounced slowly. “I suppose there is no doubt of that being Wilson’s real name.” “Very little doubt, I should say,” my chief responded. “What do you think, Cassilis?” I endeavoured to take a judicial tone. “I don’t see much room for hesitation. Here is a man without his keys, and there are the keys without the man. Besides, it all corresponds with what you said, Sir Frank, about the dead man’s appearance. A fashionable West End physician is just what I should expect him to be. And no one would be in a better position to introduce people of good position to a club of this kind.” The Inspector’s face had become overcast with doubt while I was speaking. “That’s all very well,” he demurred, “but we have been hearing a lot about Wilson’s being afraid of enemies, and taking precautions about what he drank; and now it turns out to be a simple case of burglary.” Tarleton consulted me by a look. I just lifted my shoulders in answer without speaking. Mine was a difficult part to play just then. On the one hand, I did not wish my chief to think me wanting in brains; on the other, I dreaded above all things betraying any previous knowledge of anything connected with the mystery.