I'm going through his pockets.

It's only right that his people should know where he is and what has happened to him." But he searched in vain.

Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label.

Immediately he grasped the fact that there was drama here, probably the old drama of the fugitive.
He folded the garments carefully and replaced them on the chair.
"I'm afraid we'll have to dig into his trunk," he said.

"There's nothing in his clothes.