CHAPTER 18"You sent for me, sir?" Harbord closed the door behind him.
Inspector Stoddart was sitting before the desk in his private room at Scotland Yard. He was looking grave and preoccupied.
"Yes. What do you make of this?" Harbord looked curiously at the scrap of paper he pushed forward.
"It is a cloak-room ticket for a bag deposited at St. Pancras waiting-room on June—"
"The day of Mrs. Wilton's death," the inspector finished. "I found that ticket this morning, Harbord, in the pocket of a coat of Basil Wilton's in his room at his brother's house. That was one discovery and this"—opening a drawer and taking out a small oblong object—"was another."
Harbord poked it gingerly with the tip of his finger.
"An automatic—where did this come from, sir?"
"Where we ought to have found it b
