he ran away he must have left the rig in the house. Let’s rake for it.”
“Oh, set one of those chaps downstairs at the job. I’m tired—physically—and anyway, we’ll get farther by thrashing this thing out verbally between us. Go on, you were collecting your facts.”
Hutchins called an assistant, and bade him search the house for Locke’s monkish garb, and then he resumed:
“Well, I think that constitutes my entire exhibition. Mrs. Barham is murdered and Locke is missing. Have you anything further to add?”
“Chinese Charley is missing also.”
“Yes. Now we have nothing that can be rightly called evidence, and very few, if any clues. I can’t care much for these ripped off spangles, and dropped gloves. The studio is full of such things. At a masquerade, the costumes fairly rain tinsel and fringes. But I do think, Hutchins, that this is a big case. I do think there’s a lot behind the present aspect, and it is not going to be easy to ferret it out.”
“Do you suppose for a minute I thought it would be?” the detective growled. “Well, how shall we set about it?”
“First—and I don’t mean to do it first—but of first importance, is to locate Locke. Second, learn the details of Mrs. Barham’s past. On those two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”
“And after those two trifling errands are attended to, what next?”
“Don’t be pettish, Hutchins. You’ve never had a bigger chance for good work. Go to it. Keep your sweepings and doodads, but also put in a lot of headwork and energetic search. As soon as possible interview the little Dutch girl—though I don’t think she had a hand in the crime.”
