The Eames-Erskine Case A Detective Story By A. Fielding A. L. Burt Company Publishers New York Copyright, 1925, by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Published, March, 1925 Dedicated to my dear mother who first read and liked and criticised this yarn Chapter I The door opened noiselessly, and four men came in. They were in plain clothes, and one carried a large box. “Evening,” said the first. “I am Chief Inspector Pointer from New Scotland Yard. These are detectives Watts, Miller and Lester. What's wrong?” “I 'phoned,” a tall young man answered crisply. “I am the manager of the hotel. This is Mr. Beale, an American gentleman to whom this room was let a couple of hours ago. It really belongs to a young fellow who is away for the week-end, but as there was no other room available we assigned it to this gentleman for the one night. Mr. Beale has just told me that there is something wrong about the wardrobe you see there. Kindly investigate that large knot-hole in the back for yourself, Inspector.” The Chief Inspector peered at the hole indicated, ran a finger lightly around it, and inserted it as gently as a mother feeling her baby's tooth. His face showed no change of expression, but, stepping back, he looked the piece of furniture over with the meticulous care of a would-be purchaser hoping to find a flaw, before he got on a chair and examined the top. “Miller, take your coat off and be doing something outside. See that no one lingers, and notice if any of the doors along the corridor are open.” “Yes, sir.” The man vanished. “The wardrobe evidently stood back against the wall. I take it that it hasn't been tampered with in any way before you rang us up, Mr. Manager?” “Not by me. This gentleman called me in because he fancied that there was something wrong.” The Chief Inspector looked Mr. Beale over almost as carefully as he had the wardrobe. He did not strike the police officer as the kind of man to be occupying just such an apartment, for the room looked simple, and Mr. Beale did not,—not in the least. “Did you do anything to it, sir?” The well-dressed, well-manicured, middle-aged man folded his hands over his ample front, pursed up a cruel mouth, and shook his head. “No, Chief, not beyond moving it out and feeling around through that gaping hole same as yourself.” His voice wrapped the Stars and Stripes around him. “I'd be obliged, gentlemen, if you will remain quite still for a few minutes. Lester, I want the usual flashlight photos.” “Yes, sir,” and the photographer got to work. The exposures were quickly made. “Now, then, help Watts to lift the top off, and we'll get the wardrobe on its side. Gently does it.” “Ah-h-h!” came from the two men watching, and the manager made an impulsive forward movement. “Stand back, sir!” The Chief Inspector's voice was sharp. “Now, another flashlight, Lester.”