"I'm looking for lost property," said Amberley.
"Whose lost property?"
"I'm not sure."
Anthony blinked at him. "Look here, what the devil are you driving at?"
"I'm sure, of course," said Amberley maddeningly, "but I've no proof. Awkward, isn't it?"
Anthony shook his head. "I can't cope with it. I thought you were looking for Dawson's assassin, and now you say…'
"I've never had much interest in Dawson's murder," said Amberley.
Mr. Corkran raised his eyes to heaven. "Of course I shall end up in a looney-bin," he said. "I can feel it coming on.
In spite of what he had told Sir Humphrey Mr. Amberley did not invite Corkran to play golf, but drove away from the manor to Carchester, where the chief constable and Inspector Fraser were awaiting him.
They found him in a discouraging mood. Colonel Watson was dismayed, the inspector triumphant. The inspector was following up a trail of his own and held forth on its possibilities until he realised that Mr. Amberley was not listening to him.
Colonel Watson, more perceptive than the inspector, had been watching Amberley. He said: "You're on to something?"
"I thought I was," Amberley replied. "I still think it. But the only piece of evidence in the whole case hass gone astray and I tell you candidly I'm afraid it may have got into the wrong hands or been destroyed. Where it is I don't know. Until it's found neither you nor I can do anything. Once I get my hands on it you'll have your whole case cut and dried."
The inspector gave a superior smile. "Very fanciful, sir. I suppose it'll clear everything up - Dawson's murder and all? Pity you can't tell us anything now."
There was a glint in Mr. Amberley's eyes. "Since you're so keen on Dawson's murder - a somewhat unimportant link in the chain, as I believe I remarked once before - I'll tell you who did murder him."
The colonel jumped. "You know?"
"I've known since the night of the fancy-dress ball at the manor," said Mr. Amberley calmly. "Collins murdered him."
The colonel stuttered: "But - but…'
"Very nice, sir," said the inspector, still smiling. "A little thing like a good alibi doesn't count, I suppose?"
"You should always beware of alibis, Inspector. If you'd had rather more experience of crime you'd have learned that lesson."
The inspector grew purple in the face. "Perhaps you'll favour us with the proof, Mr. Amberley." "None," said Amberley. "One person might shake the alibi, but he daren't do it. You may as well make up your mind to it; you won't get a conviction."
"That's very interesting," said the inspector sarcastically. "Useful too. No charge of murder at all, in fact."
"On the contrary," said Amberley.
"I see," said the inspector. "I've heard your opinion of Brown's death. Going to charge Collins with that, I daresay?"
"Collins," said Mr. Amberley, picking up his hat, "was the last man in the world to want Brown dead." He turned to Colonel Watson. "About the missing evidence, Colonel. If you can get a tactful man onto the job - not Fraser - send someone to interview Dawson's sister. It is just possible that he had it at the time of his death. I want all his effects carefully gone through and any papers brought to me. It's a slim chance, but worth trying. Particularly a torn paper, Colonel. Remember that."
On his way back to Greythorne he stopped in Upper Nettlefold to see Sergeant Gubbins. The sergeant was busy with a motor accident, but he left it for a moment to speak to Amberley.
"Done as I asked?" Amberley said briefly.
"Yes, sir. Tucker. He won't make a second mistake."
"That's all right then," said Amberley, and departed.
It was at nine o'clock that evening that a scared housemaid presented herself in the drawing room at Greythorne and said hysterically: "Oh, sir! Oh, my lady! Burglars!"
"What?" snapped Sir Humphrey, letting the evening paper fall. "Here?"
"Oh yes, sir! At least it does seem so. It's Mr. Amberley's bedroom, sir. It give me such a turn, I feel quite bad."
Amberley regarded her with unimpaired calm. "What happened?" he inquired.
Her story was somewhat involved, and embellished with a great deal of irrelevant detail, but it seemed that she had gone upstairs at nine o'clock to turn down the beds and found that Mr. Amberley's room had been ransacked. Every drawer was pulled out and the contents strewn on the floor; the little desk in the window had been burst open and the papers all scattered about; his suitcases wrenched open; and a leather attache-case in which he might be supposed to keep private papers, with the lock torn off. Even the bed had been disarranged, while as for the suits in the wardrobe, never had she seen anything to equal it.
She paused for breath; and Sir Humphrey, fixing his nephew with a smouldering eye, said that he had had enough.
Lady Matthews murmured: "Better tidy it, Molly. Did he find anything, Frank?"
Amberley shook his head. "Quite bright of him to suspect me, but not so bright to think I should leave it lying about in my room. So he thinks I've got it. That's illuminating anyhow."
"How fortunate, dear! So glad. Why, by the way?"
"At least it means that it hasn't fallen into the wrong hands," said Amberley, smiling at her.
"Delightful, my dear. Don't fuss, Humphrey. Nothing to do with us."
This was too much for Sir Humphrey. If a couple of robberies in his own house were nothing to do with him he would like to know what was. And how did the burglar get in without anyone hearing? Really, it was too much of a good thing.
Lady Matthews glanced at the long window. "Not locked, you know. While we were at dinner. Don't you think so, Frank?"
He nodded. Sir Humphrey picked up the evening paper and said with acerbity that it was time Frank got married to some woman who would put a stop to his senseless conduct. Mr. Amberley looked at him rather sharply, a tinge of colour creeping into his lean cheeks.
Lady Matthews' calm voice changed the subject.
But all was not over for Sir Humphrey. At three in the morning he was awakened by the telephone ringing in the library, which was immediately beneath his bedroom. He got up, swearing under his breath, and stalked out onto the landing just as the door of his nephew's room opened. "Since," he said awfully, "I have little doubt that call is for you, I will leave you to answer it." With which utterance he went back into his room and shut the door with terrible quietness.
Amberley laughed and went down the stairs, tying the cord of his dressing gown.
The call was for him. Sergeant Gubbins was speaking from the police station. There were fresh developments which he thought Mr. Amberley should be told about at once. All the same, if it hadn't been for Mr. Amberley's instructions he would not have taken it upon himself to rouse him at this hour.
"Get on with it!" snarled Amberley.
The sergeant said apologetically: "When I think how you had me out that night it makes me smile, sir."
"Does it?" said Amberley grimly. "What's happened?"
"That there Albert Collins has done a bunk, sir." Amberley's irritable frown left him. "What?"
"Or so it seems," said the sergeant cautiously. "Mr. Fountain's just been on the phone, and Constable Walker put him right through to me."
"Fountain rang up the police station at three in the morning?"
"That's right, sir. Some people seem to think the police like being rung up at all hours. I've met 'em before - not to mention any names. I have known people who'd get you out of your bed to go on a wild-goose chase where nothing happened, nor was likely to."
"If I took it into my head," said Mr. Amberley distinctly, "to murder anyone —- mentioning no names - I should do it very neatly, Gubbins, and leave no clues behind me."