Then he undertook a methodical search, working with a rapid yet
painstaking thoroughness which missed nothing. From a wardrobe he
selected an overcoat and pair of trousers which reeked with turpentine.
They were old and soiled garments, very different from the well-cut black
coat and waistcoat, with striped cloth trousers, worn daily by the
chemist. He drew a blank in the remainder of the upstairs rooms, which
included a sitting-room, though he devoted fully quarter of an hour to
reading the titles of Siddle's books.
A safe in the little dispensing closet at the back of the shop promised
sheer defiance until Furneaux saw a bunch of keys resting beside a
methylated spirit lamp.
"'Twas ever thus!" he cackled, lighting the lamp. "Heaven help us poor
detectives if it wasn't!"
In a word, since murder will out, Siddle had forgotten his keys!
Probably, he had gone to the safe for money, and, while writing the
notice as to his absence, had laid down the keys and omitted to pick
them up again.
Furneaux disregarded ledgers and account books. He examined a bank
pass-book and a check-book. In a drawer which contained these and a
quantity of gold he found a small, leather-bound book with a lock, which
no key on the bunch was tiny enough to fit.
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