“Has he ever stayed in the hotel before?” “No.” “Sure?” “Quite. I came here when the hotel opened.” “Isn't there a balcony running all along your front rooms on the first floor, and also along the rooms of the Marvel Hotel next door?” “Yes. Both hotels belong to the same management.” The Chief Inspector seemed plunged in thought for a moment. “By the way, before I forget it, from which direction did the manager come when he spoke to you after Eames' 'phone had been taken? I want to get the whole scene clear in my mind.” “From the direction of the stairs.” “And now about the voice over the 'phone—it wasn't Eames himself, you think?” “Sure it wasn't. This sounded like an old chap with a cold in his head.” “Wheezy?” “More than that. Funniest voice—sort of muffled—I should know it again anywhere.” “A disguised voice,” wrote the Chief Inspector. “Had Eames any friends?” “Never saw him speak to a soul.” “Did any letters come for him?” “Not a card.” “How would you say that, generally speaking, he spent his time in the hotel?” “Smoking cigarettes in the lounge. Of course we've had rotten weather, but I don't think Mr. Eames was out of the house for more than ten minutes at a stretch.” “Did he go out often?” “Always after each meal. Acted as though he intended to live to be a hundred. And to think that all the time he meant to commit suicide! Why, he might have had any kind of a bust-up.” The booking-clerk evidently considered that Eames had wasted a rare chance. “Now about Mr. Beale's arrival?” But there the booking-clerk could tell the Chief Inspector nothing fresh. “And now I want to know what luggage, however small, left the hotel after mid-day to-day. I'm afraid I'll have to have the day-porter routed out, too.” “I can tell you from the books that there were no departures to-day after twelve o'clock. As a matter of fact, not a bag left the hotel after a quarter-past eleven. It's one of our strictest rules that nothing leaves a room without first 'phoning down to the clerk to find out if it's all O.K.” “But what about the people in the hotel taking out their bags themselves?” “Oh, that,—of course—but not this afternoon.” The clerk thought back, “You see it's a small hotel, and I'm paid to keep my eyes open. Nobody took out any bag bigger than a woman's wrist-bag after one o'clock. There's no business doing of a Saturday afternoon. The day-porter's gone home and won't be visible till Monday.” “What about when you're off duty, Mr. Page?” “The manager relieves me for two hours at noon, from one to three, but as the dining-room opens out of the hall, and my table is just by the glass door, I'm as good as in the hall. At seven o'clock the hall-porter takes my place till seven-thirty. But, as I say, I've my eyes on the hall all the time, and if there's any crush I'm out in two twos.”