This key was one of several on a key-ring, and, taking it from its place, I dropped the whole bunch in my pocket.  This action at once put me in my rightful place.  The two men watching me unconsciously assumed a more deferential air, and, though they said nothing, I could see that their respect for my authority had increased.

Strangely enough, after this episode, a new confidence in my own powers took possession of me, and, shaking off the apathy that had come over me at sight of that dread figure in the chair, I set methodically to work to examine the room.

Of course I noted the position of the furniture, the state of the window-fastenings, and such things in a few moments.  The many filing cabinets and indexed boxes, I glanced at, and locked those that had keys or fastenings.

The inspector sat with folded hands watching me with interest but saying nothing.  Parmalee, on the other hand, kept up a running conversation, sometimes remarking lightly on my actions, and again returning to the subject of Miss Lloyd.

“I can see,” he said, “that you naturally dislike to suspect a woman, and a young woman too.  But you don’t know Miss Lloyd.  She is haughty and wilful.  And as I told you, nobody has mentioned her yet in this connection.  But I am speaking to you alone, and I have no reason to mince matters.  And you know Florence Lloyd is not of the Crawford stock.  The Crawfords are a fine old family, and not one of them could be capable of crime.  But Miss Lloyd is on the other side of the house, a niece of Mrs. Crawford; and I’ve heard that the Lloyd stock is not all that could be desired.  There is a great deal in heredity, and she may not be responsible . . .”

I paid little attention to Parmalee’s talk, which was thrown at me in jerky, desultory sentences, and interested me not at all.  I went on with my work of investigation, and though I did not get down on my knees and examine every square inch of the carpet with a lens, yet I thoroughly examined all of the contents of the room.  I regret to say, however, that I found nothing that seemed to be a clue to the murderer.

Stepping out on the veranda, I looked for footprints.  The “light snow” usually so helpful to a detective had not fallen, as it was April, and rather warm for the season.  But I found many heel marks, apparently of men’s boots; yet they were not necessarily of very recent date, and I don’t think much of foot-print clues, anyhow.

Then I examined the carpet, or, rather, the several rugs which ornamented the beautiful polished floor.

I found nothing but two petals of a pale yellow rose.  They were crumpled, but not dry or withered, and could not have been long detached from the blossom on which they grew.

Parmalee chanced to have his back toward me as I spied them, and I picked them up and put them away in my pocket-book without his knowledge.  If the stolid inspector saw me, he made no sign.  Indeed, I think he would have said nothing if I had carried off the big desk itself.  I looked round the room for a bouquet or vase of flowers from which the petals might have fallen, but none was there.