“Did I say so? Well, see what you think. This is how things stand at present.” He told of his call to the Enterprise and the results of the inquiry so far. “Why don't you think it's a suicide, what's wrong with that letter?” Jim handed it back. “You say the writing is the same as on the register.” “By the same hand you'd think, but this letter's been written with an ordinary pen, same nib and ink as is supplied in the hotel bedroom, yet Eames had a filled fountain-pen in his pocket. He signed the register with it, why didn't he use it to write this letter with? It wasn't as if he had been trying to disguise his handwriting. Then the way he was huddled into the wardrobe looked as if his feet had been shoved in first and the rest of his body afterwards. You'll see what I mean when I show you Lester's photos on Monday. His coat and tie were half over his head at the back. And where is his trunk key? You might say that he got rid of his bag beforehand to save tracing his home, but he left the trunk. Then why not leave the key? And the things he had put into the wardrobe from his bed and washstand—pyjamas, shaving-tackle, and that sort of thing—well, of course a man _might_ lock himself into a pitch-dark wardrobe and then proceed to tidy all the articles neatly against the front, but it's difficult to see why.” “Especially if he was drugged. Sure it wasn't an overdose of whisky? That would explain so many puzzles.” O'Connor loved to impersonate guileless curiosity at these talks. It moved the Chief Inspector to a fury at times which the Irishman took as a tribute to his histrionic powers. “Any finger prints?” he asked after a moment. It was Pointer's turn to get even. He gazed on his friend as on a man past praying for. “Any finger-prints? How many things were there, do you suppose, that that American and the Manager between them hadn't pawed over? There was a regular finger-mark jam over everything. Now I'll tell you another thing. His socks and small things were in the two top-drawers. Nothing could have been tidier. Even his spare shoelaces had rubber bands to keep them trim. His underwear, in the top long drawer, looked as if it were ready for an inspection, but his things in the bottom drawer—two pairs of trousers and a coat—seemed as though they had been flung in during an earthquake.” “Inference—someone was chiefly concerned in pockets.” Jim was so interested that he forgot his rôle. “Aye, just so. His trunk was in the same muddle. And remember, no letters, no papers!” “You said his trunk and underwear were all oldish and all marked R.E.?” “They are.” There was silence for some time in the room. Then: