"Why not ask the
detective?"
Her suggestion held a grain of truth. Suppose Ferguson had not
believed his statement that the papers in the envelope were his
personal property and had taken the envelope away to examine it
at his leisure? The thought brought Kent to his feet.
"Good night, Mrs. Sherlock Holmes," he said jestingly, "I'll
follow your advice - There was no opportunity to say more, for
several men had discovered the widow's perch on the stairs and
came to claim their dances. Over their heads McIntyre watched
Kent stride downstairs, then stooping over he picked up Mrs.
Brewster's fan and sat down to patiently await her return.
Kent's pursuit of the detective took longer than he had anticipated,
and it was after midnight before he finally located him at the
office of the Chief of Detectives in the District Building. "I've
called for the envelope you took from my safe early this evening,"
he began without preface, hardly waiting for the latter's surprised
greeting.
"Why, Mr. Kent, I left it lying on the porch table at the club,"
declared Ferguson.
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