“Nothing much. We’ve come to look at your house, Mr. Ogden.”
Mr. Ogden paled slightly.
“Sure,” he said. “What’s the big idea?”
“Don’t look so uncomfortable. We’re not expecting to find a body in the destructor.”
“Aw gee!” protested Mr. Ogden. “You make me nervous when you pull that grim British humour stuff.”
He showed them over the maisonette, which had the peculiarly characterless look of the ready-furnished dwelling. Mr. Ogden, however, appeared to like it.
“It’s never recovered from the shock it got when Queen Victoria okayed gas lighting,” he said. “It’s just kind of forgotten to disappear. Look at that grate. I reckon it would have a big appeal in the States as a museum specimen. Some swell apartment! When I first saw it I thought I’d side-slipped down time’s speedway. I asked the real estate agent if it was central heated and the old guy looked so grieved I just hadn’t the nerve to come at it again.”
“There are plenty of modern flats in London, sir,” said Inspector Fox rather huffily, as they went into the kitchen.
“Sure there are. Erected by Rip Van Winkle and Co. You don’t want to get sore, Inspector. I’m only kidding. I took this apartment because it’s old-world and British. I get a kick out of buying coal for this grate and feeling Florida in front and Alaska down the back.”
“It’s a very cosy little kitchenette, sir,” said Fox, still on the defensive. “All those nice modern Fyrexo dishes!”
“I’ve pepped it up some. There was no ice-chest and a line of genuine antiques for fixing the eats. And will you look at that hot-squat, coal-consuming range? I reckon that got George Whatsit Stevenson thinking about trains.”
Fox mumbled impotently.
They completed their tour of the maisonette and returned to the sitting room. Mr. Ogden drew armchairs up to the hearth and attacked the smoldering coals with a battered stump of a poker.
“How about a drink?” he asked.
“Thank you so much, not for me,” said Alleyn.
Mr. Ogden again looked nervous.
“I forgot,” he mumbled, “I kinda asked for that.”
“Good Heavens,” protested Alleyn, “you mustn’t jump to conclusions like this, Mr. Ogden. We’re on duty. We don’t drink when we’re on duty. That’s all there is to it.”
“Maybe,” said Mr. Ogden eyeing him doubtfully. “What can I do for you, Chief?”
“We’re still trying to untangle the business of the book. I think you can help us there, if you will. I take it that this is the room where you held your party?”
“Yup.”
“And there are your books,” continued Alleyn, pointing to where a dispirited collection of monthly journals and cheap editions propped each other up in an old bookcase.
“That’s the library. Looks world-weary, doesn’t it? I’m not crazy about literature.”
“I notice there are no red backs there, so the Curiosities must have showed up rather well.”
“That’s so. It looked like it was surprised at being there,” said Mr. Ogden with one of his imaginative flights.
“Well now, can you show me where it was on the night of your party?”
“Lemme see.”
He got up and walked over to the shelves.
“I reckon I can,” he said. “M. de Ravigne had parked his drink in that gap along by the stack of Posts and spilled it over. I remember that because it marked the shelf and he was very repentant about it. He called me over and apologised and I said: ‘What the hell’s it matter,’ and then I saw the old book. That’s how I come to show it to him.”
“You showed it to him. You’re positive of that? He did not find it for himself, and you didn’t see him with it before anything was said about it?”
Mr. Ogden thought that over. The significance of Alleyn’s question obviously struck him. He looked worried, but he answered with every appearance of complete frankness.
“No, sir. Raoul de Ravigne did no snooping around those books. I showed it to him. And get this, Chief. If I hadn’t showed it to him he’d never have seen it. He had turned away from the books and was telling Garnette how thoughtless he’d acted putting his glass down on the shelf.”
“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.