"Great idea," Holderness assented, turning towards the cloakroom
attendant. "Don't you remember my friend, James?" he went on. "He
arrived about half-past one, and threw his coat and hat over to you."

The attendant nodded and glanced towards an empty peg.

"I remember him quite well, sir," he acknowledged. "Number sixty-seven
was his number."

"Where are his things, then?"

"Gone, sir," the man replied.

"Do you remember his asking for them?"

The attendant shook his head.

"Can't say that I do, sir," he acknowledged, "but they've gone right
enough."

A party of outgoing guests claimed the man's attention. Holderness
turned away.

"This thing is getting on my nerves," he declared. "Does it seem likely
that Sandy should chuck his luncheon without a word of explanation,
come out and get his coat and hat and walk off? And, besides, where was
he all the time we were looking for him?"

It was unanswerable, inexplicable. They all looked at one another