"My specialty is finger prints," said Quarles, "nothing else. In this
case my specialty has proved useless." When we left the house Quarles
turned toward Connaught Road.

"Is it your real opinion that the only thing to do is to wait?" I asked.

"Let's go and see if we can find any more finger prints," he chuckled.

The garage was shut. Cut into the big gates was a small door.

"Not a difficult lock," said Quarles. "I may have a key that will fit it.
We must get in somehow."

"There is a door into the garage from the garden. We could have gone
that way."

"And advertised ourselves to the servants. I wanted to avoid that."

He found a key to open the door, and he made no pretense of looking for
finger prints now. He examined the car. It was a big one--open--with a
cape hood--capable of carrying five or six persons besides the driver.
He was interested in the seating accommodation, and the make of the car
generally. There was a window which had a shutter to it high up in the
garage looking into the side road, and a small window at the back
looking into the garden which had no shutter. Quarles got on a stool to
examine the frame of this window, and then inspected the cloths for
cleaning and the towels which were in the garage.

"Come on. The interest of this place is soon exhausted," he said.