thinking—the criminal or criminals were much too close at hand. He cut in now and then with a question—but the detective listened in grim, absorbed silence.
"Now, you know, this is really about the most serious and important thing I've heard, so far," he said, when Mr. Cazalette had finished. "Just let's sum it up. Salter Quick is murdered in a strange and lonely place. Not for his goods, for all his money and his valuables—not inconsiderable—are found on him. But the murderer was in search of something that he believed to be on Salter Quick, for he thoroughly searched his clothing, slashed its linings, turned his pockets out—and probably, no, we may safely say certainly, failed in his search. He did not get what he was after—any more than his fellow-murderer who slew Noah Quick, some hundreds of miles away from here, about the very same time, got what he was after. But now comes in Mr. Cazalette. Mr. Cazalette, inadvertently, never thinking what he was doing, draws public attention to certain marks and scratches, evidently made on purpose, in Salter Quick's tobacco-box. Do you see my point, gentlemen? The murderer hears of this and says to himself, 'That box is the thing I want!' So—he appropriates it, at the inquest! But even then, so faint and almost illegible are the marks within the lid, he doesn't find exactly what he wants. But he knows that Mr. Cazalette was going to submit his photograph to an enlarging process, which would make the marks clearer; he also knows Mr. Cazalette's habits (a highly significant fact!) so he sets himself to steal Mr. Cazalette's pocket-book, theorizing that
