“But he would have seen it before, when he put his glass down.”

“Yeah? Well, that’s so. But even if that is so you can bet your suspenders Ravigne is on the level. See here, Chief, I get you with this book stuff and God knows I feel weak under my vest whenever I remember the Curiosities belonged to me. But if you’re thinking of Raoul de Ravigne for the quick hiccough, forget it. He worshipped Cara. He surely worshipped her.”

“I know, I know,” said Alleyn abstractedly.

Fox, who had examined the shelf, suddenly remarked:

“There’s the mark of the stuff there still. Spirit. It’s lifted the varnish.”

“So it has,” said Alleyn. “After you had shown him the book what happened to it?”

“Why, I don’t just remember. Wait a while. Yeah, I got it. He looked at it sort of polite but not interested, and handed it to Garnette.”

“And then?”

“I can’t remember. I guess we walked away or something.”

“Previous to the glass incident what had you all been doing?”

“Search me. Talking.”

“Had you been talking to Mrs. Candour, Miss Quayne and Mr. Garnette?”

“That’s so. Checking up, are you? Well, I reckon that’s right. We were here by the fire, I guess.”

“And you don’t remember seeing the book after that evening?”

“No. But I don’t remember not seeing it till the day that sissy stopped in for Garnette’s books. I’m dead sure it wasn’t here then. Dead sure.”

“That’s a most important point. It seems to show—”

Alleyn paused and then said: “Look here, Mr. Ogden, as far as I can see there’s no reason why I shouldn’t be perfectly frank with you. Tell me, is it your opinion the book disappeared on the night of your party?”

“Honest, Chief, I’m not sure. I don’t know. I can’t go any further except that I’d stake a couple of grand Ravigne doesn’t come into the picture.”

“Who looks after you here and does the housemaiding?”

“The girl Prescott. The daughter of the janitor.”

“Could we speak to her, do you think?”

“Sure! She’ll be down in the dungeon they call their apartment. I’ll fetch her.”

He went out into the little hall and they could hear him shouting:

“Hey! Elsie! Cm’ on up here, will you?”

A subterranean squeak answered him. He came back grinning.

“She’ll be right up. Her old man does the valeting and butling, her ma cooks, and Elsie hands out the cap and apron dope. The bell doesn’t work since they forgot to fix it way back eighteen-twenty-five.”

Elsie turned out to be a pleasant-faced young woman. She was neatly dressed, and looked intelligent.

“Listen, Elsie. These gentlemen want to ask you something.”

“It’s about a book of Mr. Ogden’s that was stolen,” said Alleyn. “It’s a valuable book and he wants us to trace it for him.”

Elsie looked alarmed.

“Don’t worry,” said Alleyn, “we rather think it was taken by a man who tried to sell him a wireless. Do you remember the night Mr. Ogden had a large party here? About three weeks ago?”

“Yes, sir. We helped.”

“Splendid. Did you do the tidying next day?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I suppose you dusted the bookshelves, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes, sir. They were in a terrible mess. A gentleman had upset a glass. Just there it was, sir.”

She pointed to the shelf.

“Were any of the books damaged?”

“The one next the place was, sir. It was stained-like.”

“What book was that?”

“I never noticed the name, sir. It had brown paper on it. You couldn’t see.”

“Was there a red book there?”

“You mean the queer-looking old one. That hasn’t been there for a — well, for some time.”

“That’s the one we’re trying to trace, Elsie. You think it was not there that morning?”

“No, sir. I’m sure it wasn’t. You see that’s where it always stood, and I noticed it wasn’t there because I thought it was a pity because it wouldn’t have mattered if that old book had been marked because I didn’t know it was a valuable book, sir. I just laid the other one down by the fire to dry off and put it back again. I didn’t take the cover off because I didn’t like it. It was put on very neat with nice shiny paper.”

Alleyn glanced at Mr. Ogden, who turned bright pink.

“But it wasn’t the old book, sir. The old book was bigger and it hadn’t got a cover. Now I come to think of it, I remember I says to Mr. Ogden, I says: ‘Where’s the big red book?’ Didn’t I, sir? When you was looking through them to see the damage.”

“By heck, I believe she did,” shouted Mr. Ogden.

“Splendid, Elsie. So one way and another you’re absolutely certain there was no big red book?”

“Yes, sir, certain sure. There was just a row of five in brown paper covers and then the ones that are there now. I remember it all so distinct because that was the day before we went for our holidays, and I says I’d like to get things nice for a start off because Mr. Ogden was going to do for himself and get his meals out, and he’d been that kind, and it seemed such a pity like, anything should be missing, so I was quite anxious to make everything nice, so I did and so that’s how I remember.”

“Thank you very much indeed, Elsie.”

She went away in high feather.

“Just as well she didn’t look at the book, Mr. Ogden,” said Alleyn dryly. “Which was it? Petronius?”

“Ah, hell!” said Mr. Ogden.

“Well, Fox, we must go our ways.” Alleyn wandered over to the shelves. “M. de Ravigne certainly left his mark,” he said. “The stuff ran some way along. What was it?”

“A highball.”

“Ah, well,” said Alleyn, “we’ll have to find out what Mr. Garnette did with the Curiosities.”

“By God,” began Mr. Ogden violently, “if Garnette—”

He stopped short. “I ain’t saying a thing,” he added darkly.

“Come along, Fox,” said Alleyn. “We’ve kept Mr. Ogden too long already. I must present Elsie with the wherewithal for a new bonnet. She skipped away before I could do it. I’ll find her on the way down.”

They said good-bye. Elsie was hovering in the little hall. Alleyn winked at Fox who went on ahead. Alleyn joined him in the car five minutes later.

“Very talkative girl that,” said Fox dryly.

“She is. In addition to being swamped with thanks I’ve heard all about her sister’s miscarriage, the mystery of the drawing room poker (it seems Elsie suspects someone of chewing at the tip), her young man who is a terror for crime stories, how Mr. Ogden broke a Fyrexo pot and why Elsie likes policemen. She remembers the day Claude came for the books. She put them in his attaché-case for him. Ogden was out, as he said. Elsie says there were six, which is rum, as she spoke of five before that. What’s the time?”

“Five-thirty.”

“I made an appointment with young Pringle for six. I expect he’ll be in. Look here, Fox, I’ll drop you at Knocklatchers Row. If Garnette is in, ask him what he did with the book that night at Ogden’s. Go easy with him. It would be lovely to hear the truth for once from those perfect lips. He’ll swear he left it behind him, of course, but try and get some means of checking up on it. Then, if you’ve time, look up the unspeakable Claude. Ask him how many books he collected from Ogden for Garnette. He’ll probably say he’s forgotten, but ask him. Oh, and ask Garnette if he examined them when they came in. Will you do all that, Fox?”

“Right-oh, sir. What’s your view now? Things are a bit more shipshape, aren’t they?”

“They are, Fox, they are. It’s closing in. I’ve little doubt in my own mind now. Have you?”

“No. It looks as if you’re right.”

“We haven’t got enough for an arrest, of course. Still, the cable from Australia may bring forth fruits, and I’ll have to get in touch with Madame de Barsac. You were quite right. She’s in a nursing home. The telegram was from her housekeeper. I hope to heaven Cara Quayne’s letter has survived. I’ll ring up the Sûreté tonight. Old Sapineau is by way of being a pal of mine. Perhaps he can do something tactful for me. Here we are at Knocklatchers Row. In you go, Fox. It’s better I should see Pringle alone. I’ve got to convince him we know he came to this church on Sunday afternoon without giving away the source of information. I’ll have to bluff, and I can do that better without your eye on me. It may come to taking an extreme measure. Watkins and Bailey are meeting me there. I’ll be back at the Yard some time this evening. What a life, ye screeching kittens, what a life!”