It would look well in the
records of the Court.
As for Mr. Parker, who was brooding in the retirement of his villa
whither the news had swiftly spread, he merely thought:
"Got off scot free. And without paying his Club account, I'll bet.
Bolted. Lucky devil. That's where the casual visitor has the pull over
a resident official like myself. Cleared out! I'm glad I never had any
money to lend him. Touched a good few of them, I'll be bound."
Within an hour or so of the magistrate's formal enquiries led to a
startling discovery. Muhlen's room in the hotel was broken open, and
his property searched. No letters could be found conveying any clue as
to his whereabouts. But--what was almost incredible--there was loose
money lying about. A more minute investigation proved that the
gentleman had dressed himself with considerable care prior to leaving
the establishment for the last time. He had changed his socks and other
underwear--yes, he had donned a clean shirt. The old one, blue-striped,
which he had been seen to wear at breakfast, was lying negligently
across the back of a chair with a pair of costly enameled links, of
azure colour to match, in the cuffs.
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