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On the station sergeant's desk was a variety of articles. There was a black silk mask, the eyeholes of which, as Jim saw with a professional glance, had been newly cut; an automatic pistol, a complete set of house-breaking tools, a small acetylene blow-lamp, a tiny rubber case containing six phials, and three small skeleton keys.

"Are these supposed to be mine? Where did I carry them—in my waistcoat pocket?" he asked.

"Some were in your coat pocket, some were concealed under the cushion of your car," said the detective. "You admit these are yours, I suppose?"

"I admit nothing. The only thing I can't see, which really belongs to me, is a gold watch and chain, which I presume you have confiscated for personal use. There was also a little money—some sixty-five pounds—which isn't visible. Are those also your personal perquisites, Marborne?"

"I've got the money and the watch in my desk," said the station sergeant. "You don't make your case any better by bringing charges against this officer, Morlake."