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He went towards the desk.

‘You think it’s burglary?’ I said slowly.


‘What else could it be? There’s no question of suicide, I suppose?’

‘No man could stab himself in such a way,’ I said confidently. ‘It’s murder right enough. But with what motive?’

‘Roger hadn’t an enemy in the world,’ said Blunt quietly. ‘Must have been burglars. But what was the thief after? Nothing seems to be disarranged?’


He looked round the room. Raymond was still sorting the papers on the desk.

‘There seems nothing missing, and none of the drawers show signs of having been tampered with,’ the secretary observed at last. ‘It’s very mysterious.’

Blunt made a slight motion with his head.

‘There are some letters on the floor here,’ he said.


I looked down. Three or four letters still lay where Ackroyd had dropped them earlier in the evening.

But the blue envelope containing Mrs Ferrars’ letter had disappeared. I half opened my mouth to speak, but at that moment the sound of a bell pealed through the house. There was a confused murmur of voices in the hall, and then Parker appeared with our local inspector and a police constable.

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