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see and, even more interesting, what they don't see.”
    “Where's the report on the revolver?”
    “Foreign make - (fairly common on the Continent) - Scherz did not hold a permit for it - and did not declare it on coming into England.”
    “Bad lad,” said Sir Henry.
    “Unsatisfactory character all round. Well, Craddock, go and see what you can find out about him at the Royal Spa Hotel.”

A Murder is Announces
    II
    At the Royal Spa Hotel, Inspector Craddock was taken straight to the Manager's office.
    The Manager, Mr. Rowlandson, a tall florid man with a hearty manner, greeted Inspector Craddock with expansive geniality. “Glad to help you in any way we can, Inspector,” he said. “Really a most surprising business. I'd never have credited it - never. Scherz seemed a very ordinary, pleasant young chap - not at all my idea of a hold-up man.”
    “How long has he been with you, Mr. Rowlandson?”
    “I was looking that up just before you came. A little over three months. Quite good credentials, the usual permits, etc.”
    “And you found him satisfactory?”
    Without seeming to do so, Craddock marked the infinitesimal pause before Rowlandson replied.
    “Quite satisfactory.”
    Craddock made use of a technique he had found efficacious before now.
    “No, no, Mr. Rowlandson,” he said, gently shaking his head. “That's not really quite the case, is it?”
    “Well -” The Manager seemed slightly taken aback.
    “Come now, there was something wrong. What was it?”
    “That's just it. I don't know.”
    “But you thought there was something wrong?”
    “Well - yes - I did... But I've nothing really to go upon. I shouldn't like my conjectures to be written down and quoted against me.”
    Craddock smiled pleasantly.
    “I know just what you mean. You needn't worry. But I've got to get some idea of what this fellow, Scherz, was like. You suspected him of what?”
    Rowlandson said, rather reluctantly: “Well, there was trouble, once or twice, about the bills. Items charged that oughtn't to have been there.”
    “You mean you suspected that he charged up certain items which didn't appear in the hotel records, and that he pocketed the difference when the bill was paid?”
    “Something like that... Put it at the best, there was gross carelessness on his part. Once or twice quite a big sum was involved. Frankly, I got our accountant to go over his books suspecting that he was - well, a wrong 'un, but though there were various mistakes and a good deal of slipshod method, the actual cash was quite correct. So I came to the conclusion that I must be mistaken.”
    “Supposing you hadn't been wrong? Supposing Scherz had been helping himself to various small sums here and there, he could have covered himself, I suppose, by making good the money?”
    “Yes, if he had the money. But people who help themselves to 'small sums' - as you put it - are usually hard up for those sums and spend them offhand.”
    “So, if he wanted money to replace missing sums, he would have had to get money - by a hold-up or other means?”
    “Yes. I wonder if this is his first attempt...”
    “Might be. It was certainly a very amateurish one. Is there anyone else he could have got money from? Any women in his life?”
    “One of the waitresses in the Grill. Her name's Myrna Harris.”
    “I'd better have a talk with her.”
    Myrna Harris was a pretty girl with a glorious head of red hair and a pert nose.
    She was alarmed and wary, and deeply conscious of the indignity of being interviewed by the police.
    “I don't know a thing about it, sir. Not a thing,” she protested. “If I'd known what he was like I'd never have gone out with Rudi at all. Naturally, seeing as he worked in Reception here, I thought he was all right. Naturally I did. What I say is the hotel ought to be more careful when they employ people - especially foreigners. Because you never know where you are with foreigners. I suppose he might have been in with one of these gangs