"
"What's his man look like?"
"Slim and very dark, and very quiet."
"Well, I'll take a look."
The manager was right. Haggerty had his trouble for nothing. There
was no clue whatever in Lord Monckton's suite. There was no paper in
the waste-baskets, in the fireplace; the blotters on the writing-desk
were spotless. Some clothes were hanging in the closets, but these
revealed only their fashionable maker's name. In the reception-room,
on a table, a pack of cards lay spread out in an unfinished game of
solitaire. All the small baggage had been taken for the journey.
Truth to tell, Haggerty had not expected to find anything; he had not
cared to sit idly twiddling his thumbs while the Maharajah vacated his
rooms.
In the bathroom (Lord Monckton's) he found two objects which aroused
his silent derision: a bottle of brilliantine and an ointment made of
walnut-juice. Probably this Lord Monckton was a la-de-dah chap. Bah!
Once in the prince's vacated bedroom Haggerty went to work with classic
thoroughness. Not a square foot of the room escaped his vigilant eye.
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