Cobb said. “We searched his room and it was full of the butler’s belongin’s.” Macaulay could do nothing but look from Marc to Cobb, bewildered. “Then we’d better have a closer look,” Marc said to Cobb. “We’ve got to start by taking the judge’s comment at face value: the butler who spent several months in his home was a bald man named Chilton.” They went down the hall to the butler’s quarters, trying not to appear as dazed as they felt. Once inside, they turned out every pair of trousers, frock coat, morning coat and shirt to scrutinize the labels. Every one of them bore some reference to a London tailor or shop. They tore apart the monogrammed luggage in search of some telltale clue stuffed in a pocket or lodged in a crease: with no luck. These were unquestionably the belongings of one Graves Chilton, even if the man who had most recently possessed them was not. “Maybe we got the lord’s letter wrong – somehow,” Cobb suggested as he looked forlornly at the thoroughly dishevelled sitting-room.
