likely. Papers are the only things one thinks of in connection with ambassadors.”
“Boots suggest footprints,” said Tommy thoughtfully. “Do you think they wanted to lay a trail of Wilmott’s footsteps somewhere?”
Tuppence considered the suggestion, abandoning her role, then shook her head.
“It seems wildly impossible,” she said. “No, I believe we shall have to resign ourselves to the fact that the boots have nothing to do with it.”
“Well,” said Tommy with a sigh. “The next step is to interview friend Richards. He may be able to throw some light on the mystery.”
On production of the Ambassador’s card, Tommy was admitted to the Embassy, and presently a pale young man, with a respectful manner, and a subdued voice, presented himself to undergo examination.
“I am Richards, sir, Mr. Wilmott’s valet. I understood you wished to see me?”
“Yes, Richards. Mr. Wilmott called on me this morning, and suggested that I should come round and ask you a few questions. It is this matter of the kitbag.”
“ Mr. Wilmott was rather upset over the affair, I know, sir. I can hardly see why, since no harm was done. I certainly understood from the man who called for the other bag that it belonged to Senator Westerham, but of course I may have been mistaken.”
“What kind of a man was he?”
“Middle-aged. Grey hair. Very good class, I should say—most respectable. I understood he was Senator Westerham’s valet. He left Mr. Wilmott’s bag and took away the