“Now you will see at once, Sir James,” Hewitt pursued, with an affable determination to win the baronet back to good-humor—­“you will see at once that, if a ladder had been used in Mrs. Heath’s case, anybody looking from either of these rooms would have seen it.”

“Of course!  The Scotland Yard man questioned everybody as to that, but nobody seemed to have been in either of the rooms when the thing occurred; at any rate, nobody saw anything.”

“Still, I think I should like to look out of those windows myself; it will, at least, give me an idea of what was in view and what was not, if anybody had been there.”

Sir James Norris led the way to the morning-room.  As they reached the door a young lady, carrying a book and walking very languidly, came out.  Hewitt stepped aside to let her pass, and afterward said interrogatively:  “Miss Norris, your daughter, Sir James?”

“No, my niece.  Do you want to ask her anything?  Dora, my dear,” Sir James added, following her in the corridor, “this is Mr. Hewitt, who is investigating these wretched robberies for me.  I think he would like to hear if you remember anything happening at any of the three times.”

The lady bowed slightly, and said in a plaintive drawl:  “I, uncle?  Really, I don’t remember anything; nothing at all.”

“You found Mrs. Armitage’s door locked, I believe,” asked Hewitt, “when you tried it, on the afternoon when she lost her brooch?”

“Oh, yes; I believe it was locked.  Yes, it was.”

“Had the key been left in?”

“The key?  Oh, no!  I think not; no.”

“Do you remember anything out of the common happening—­anything whatever, no matter how trivial—­on the day Mrs. Heath lost her bracelet?”

“No, really, I don’t.  I can’t remember at all.”

“Nor yesterday?”

“No, nothing.  I don’t remember anything.”

“Thank you,” said Hewitt, hastily; “thank you.  Now the morning-room, Sir James.”

In the morning-room Hewitt stayed but a few seconds, doing little more than casually glance out of the windows.  In the room above he took a little longer time.  It was a comfortable room, but with rather effeminate indications about its contents.  Little pieces of draped silk-work hung about the furniture, and Japanese silk fans decorated the mantel-piece.  Near the window was a cage containing a gray parrot, and the writing-table was decorated with two vases of flowers.

“Lloyd makes himself pretty comfortable, eh?” Sir James observed.  “But it isn’t likely anybody would be here while he was out, at the time that bracelet went.”

“No,” replied Hewitt, meditatively.  “No, I suppose not.”

He stared thoughtfully out of the window, and then, still deep in thought, rattled at the wires of the cage with a quill toothpick and played a moment with the parrot.  Then, looking up at the window again, he said:  “That is Mr. Lloyd, isn’t it, coming back in a fly?”