“And besides,” Roger went on unperturbed, “I’d bet anything that Watson was jolly useful to Holmes. Those absurd theories of the poor old chap’s that Holmes always ridiculed so mercilessly (I wish Watson had been allowed to hit on the truth just once; it would have pleased him so tremendously)—why, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if they didn’t suggest the right idea to Holmes time and time again; but of course, he would never have acknowledged it. Anyhow, the moral is, you talk away for all you’re worth and I’ll do the same. And if we don’t manage to find something out between us, you can write me down an ass. And yourself, too, Alexander!” Chapter VII The Vase That Wasn’t “Very well, Sherlock,” said Alec. “And what’s the first move?” “The library,” Roger replied promptly, and rose to his feet. Alec followed suit and they turned towards the house. “What do you expect to find?” asked the latter curiously. “I’m blessed if I know,” Roger confessed. “In fact, I can’t really say that I actually expect to find anything. I’ve got hopes, of course, but in no definite direction.” “Bit vague, isn’t it?” “Thoroughly. That’s the interesting part. All we can do is to look around and try and notice anything at all, however slight, that seems to be just out of the ordinary. Ten to one it won’t mean anything at all; and even if it does, it’s another ten to one that we shan’t be able to see it. But as I said, there’s always hope.” “But what are we going to look for? Things connected with the people you mentioned; or just—well, just things?” “Anything! Anything and everything, and trust to luck. Now step quietly over this bit of gravel. We don’t want everyone to know that we’re nosing around in here.” They stepped carefully over the path and entered the library. It was empty, but the door into the hall was slightly ajar. Roger crossed the room and closed it. Then he looked carefully round him. “Where do we start operations?” Alec asked with interest. “Well,” Roger said slowly, “I’m just trying to get a general sort of impression. This is really the first time we’ve been able to look round in peace, you know.” “What sort of impression?” Roger considered. “It’s rather hard to put into words exactly; but I’ve got a more or less retentive sort of mind. I mean, I can look at a thing or a place and carry the picture in my brain for quite a time. I’ve trained myself to it. It’s jolly useful for storing up ideas for descriptions of scenery and that sort of thing. Photographic, you might call it. Well, it struck me that if there had been any important alteration in this room during the last few hours—if the position of the safe had been altered, for instance, or anything like that—I should probably be able to spot it.” “And you think that’s going to help now?” “I don’t know in the least. But there’s no harm in trying, is there?”