A swift oriental gesture.

The hotel manager soothed Haggerty by explaining that the prince’s caste would not permit an alien to touch anything in the bedroom while it contained the prince’s belongings.

“Well, wouldn’t that get your goat!” exploded Haggerty.  “That lets me out.  You’ll have to get a clairyvoint.”

The prince suggested that he be given another suite.  His servants would remove his belongings.  He promised that nothing else should be touched.

“How long’ll it take you?”

“An hour.”

“All right,” assented Haggerty.  “Who’s got th’ suite across th’ hall?” he asked of the manager, as they left the prince.

“Lord Monckton.  He and his valet left this morning for Bar Harbor.  Back Tuesday.  A house-party of Fifth Avenue people.”

“Uhuh.”  Haggerty tugged at his mustache.  “I might look around in there while I’m waiting for his Majesty t’ change.  Did y’ever hear th’ likes?  Bug-house.”

“But he pays a hundred the day, Haggerty.  I’ll let you privately into Lord Monckton’s suite.  But you’ll waste your time.”

“Sure he left this morning?”

“I’ll phone the office and make sure. . . .  Lord Monckton left shortly after midnight.  His man followed early this morning.  Lord Monckton went by his host’s yacht.  But the man followed by rail.”

“What’s his man look like?”

“Slim and very dark, and very quiet.”

“Well, I’ll take a look.”

The manager was right.  Haggerty had his trouble for nothing.  There was no clue whatever in Lord Monckton’s suite.  There was no paper in the waste-baskets, in the fireplace; the blotters on the writing-desk were spotless.  Some clothes were hanging in the closets, but these revealed only their fashionable maker’s name.  In the reception-room, on a table, a pack of cards lay spread out in an unfinished game of solitaire.  All the small baggage had been taken for the journey.  Truth to tell, Haggerty had not expected to find anything; he had not cared to sit idly twiddling his thumbs while the Maharajah vacated his rooms.

In the bathroom (Lord Monckton’s) he found two objects which aroused his silent derision:  a bottle of brilliantine and an ointment made of walnut-juice.  Probably this Lord Monckton was a la-de-dah chap.  Bah!

Once in the prince’s vacated bedroom Haggerty went to work with classic thoroughness.  Not a square foot of the room escaped his vigilant eye.  The thief had not entered by the windows; he had come into the room by the door which gave to the corridor.  He stood on a chair and examined the transom sill.  The dust was undisturbed.  He inspected the keyhole; sniffed; stood up, bent and sniffed again.  It was an odor totally unknown to him.  He stuffed the corner of his fresh handkerchief into the keyhole, drew it out and sniffed that.  Barely perceptible.  He wrapped the corner into the heart of the handkerchief, and put it back into his pocket.  Some powerful narcotic had been forced into the room through the keyhole.  This would account for the prince’s headache.  These Orientals were as bad as the Dutch; they never opened their windows for fresh air.