On this day two or three loiterers, having heard of the robbery, extracted
what gratification they might from staring at nothing between the railings
guarding the windows. Within, Mr. Claridge, a brisk, stout, little old
man, was talking earnestly to a burly police-inspector in uniform, and Mr.
Cutler, who had seized the opportunity to attempt amateur detective work
on his own account, was groveling perseveringly about the floor, among old
porcelain and loose pieces of armor, in the futile hope of finding any
clue that the thieves might have considerately dropped.
Mr. Claridge came forward eagerly.
"The leather case has been found, I am pleased to be able to tell you,
Lord Stanway, since you left."
"Empty, of course?"
"Unfortunately, yes. It had evidently been thrown away by the thief behind
a chimney-stack a roof or two away, where the police have found it. But it
is a clue, of course."
"Ah, then this gentleman will give me his opinion of it," Lord Stanway
said, turning to Hewitt. "This, Mr. Claridge, is Mr. Martin Hewitt, who
has been kind enough to come with me here at a moment's notice.
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