“I was interested in what you were doing, sir.”

“Never mind!  Don’t stare at me in that idiotic way.”

“May I read a book, sir?”

“Yes, read if you like.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Ashe took a volume from the butler’s slenderly stocked shelf.  The shoe-expert resumed his investigations in the basket.  He went through it twice, but each time without success.  After the second search he stood up and looked wildly about the room.  He was as certain as he could be of anything that the missing piece of evidence was somewhere within those four walls.  There was very little cover in the room, even for so small a fugitive as a shoe.  He raised the tablecloth and peered beneath the table.

“Are you looking for Mr. Beach, sir?” said Ashe.  “I think he has gone to church.”

Baxter, pink with his exertions, fastened a baleful glance upon him.

“You had better be careful,” he said.

At this point the Earl of Emsworth, having done all the pottering possible in the restricted area, yawned like an alligator.

“Now, my dear Baxter—­” he began querulously.

Baxter was not listening.  He was on the trail.  He had caught sight of a small closet in the wall, next to the mantelpiece, and it had stimulated him.

“What is in this closet?”

“That closet, sir?”

“Yes, this closet.”  He rapped the door irritably.

“I could not say, sir.  Mr. Beach, to whom the closet belongs, possibly keeps a few odd trifles there.  A ball of string, perhaps.  Maybe an old pipe or something of that kind.  Probably nothing of value or interest.”

“Open it.”

“It appears to be locked, sir—­”

“Unlock it.”

“But where is the key?”

Baxter thought for a moment.

“Lord Emsworth,” he said, “I have my reasons for thinking that this man is deliberately keeping the contents of this closet from me.  I am convinced that the shoe is in there.  Have I your leave to break open the door?”

The earl looked a little dazed, as if he were unequal to the intellectual pressure of the conversation.

“Now, my dear Baxter,” said the earl impatiently, “please tell me once again why you have brought me in here.  I cannot make head or tail of what you have been saying.  Apparently you accuse this young man of keeping his shoes in a closet.  Why should you suspect him of keeping his shoes in a closet?  And if he wishes to do so, why on earth should not he keep his shoes in a closet?  This is a free country.”

“Exactly, your lordship,” said Ashe approvingly.  “You have touched the spot.”

“It all has to do with the theft of your scarab, Lord Emsworth.  Somebody got into the museum and stole the scarab.”

“Ah, yes; ah, yes—­so they did.  I remember now.  You told me.  Bad business that, my dear Baxter.  Mr. Peters gave me that scarab.  He will be most deucedly annoyed if it’s lost.  Yes, indeed.”