“I see.” Pointer was watching him intently and not disguising the fact. “The night-clerk, Biggs, says that he happened to see you open the safe several times during the days Eames was here, and noticed a small sealed box, wrapped in green and white striped paper, on the top shelf to the right. He is certain that he saw it last on the night of the third—Saturday—when you opened the safe to give a Dutch gentleman back his deposit. On Sunday morning the safe was opened at nine o'clock to let a lady put in her jewels, and the box was gone. Can you tell me anything about that box?” “That box? Oh, yes, I remember now. That box belonged to me. I often keep spare cash in the safe.” Both men looked at the safe facing them cemented into the wall of the manager's sitting-room. “And the green and white striped paper? I showed the clerk the piece I found in this room the morning after Mr. Beale's—ah—departure, and he positively identifies it as similar to that which he saw in the safe. Yet when I questioned you, sir, about that same piece you expressly stated that it was not yours?” The manager did not speak. He looked as if he could not, and after waiting a full minute the Chief Inspector rose. “You have no explanation to offer, sir?” “What do you mean?” snapped the manager shrilly. “I have explained! Good God, I am explaining! I may have wrapped a box up in any chance piece of paper I found lying around without noticing its colour—its stripes!” Pointer waited again. Then: “You have nothing further to add, sir?” “No!” The manager passed his hand across his face as though to wipe away an incautious word. The Chief Inspector took out a small black book from an inner pocket and held it in front of the other. “Do you identify this, sir?” The manager's face glistened under the light. “Of course. It's the safe receipt-book. You have no business with that, officer. Aren't you overstepping your authority?” “I think not, sir. Here are the entries up to July 25th—the date Mr. Eames came to the hotel. Here are the entries up to August 4th, the date of his death—and here are the entries from August 4th up to date. Does nothing strike you about them?” “Nothing!” The manager's voice was harsh. “They are all in perfect order. Each entry initialled by me and by the visitor, and the dated signed receipt in full when the article or articles were handed back. What mare's nest have you got hold of now?” “You have no explanation to offer of the curious fact that up to the 25th the entries are in a different ink from the receipts, and the receipts themselves differ according to the pen used. But from the twenty-fifth of July to August fourth inclusive, that is these ten pages”—he held them up—“though the handwriting differs as before, all the writing is done with one ink throughout and with one nib—a rather pointed fountain pen? After August fourth again the nibs and the ink varies as they do before July 25th.”