“The folds tell me that,” said Meadows. “You may not get a conviction against Cuccini; the two burglars will come up before a judge, but to charge Cuccini means the whole story of the snake coming out, and that means a bigger kick than I’m prepared to laugh away—I am inclined to let Cuccini go for the moment.”
Manfred nodded. He sat with the embossed sheets on his knee.
“Written from various places,” he went on.
It was curious to see him, his fingers running swiftly along the embossed lines, his eyes fixed on vacancy.
“So far I’ve learnt nothing, except that in his spare time Barberton amused himself by translating native fairy stories into English and putting them into Braille for use in the blind school. I knew, of course, that he did that, because I’d already interviewed his sister, who is the mistress of the girls’ section.”
He had gone through half a dozen letters when he rose from the table and walked across to the safe.
“I have a notion that the thing we’re seeking is not here,” he said. “It is hardly likely that he would allow a communication of that character to be jumbled up with the rest of the correspondence.”
The safe door was open and the steel drawer at the back had been pulled out. Evidently it was from this receptacle that the letters had been taken. Now the drawer was empty. Manfred took it out and measured the depth of it with his finger.
“Let me see,” said Gonsalez suddenly.
He groped along the floor of the safe, and presently he began to feel carefully along the sides.
“Nothing here,” he said. He drew out half a dozen account books and a bundle of documents which at first glance Manfred had put aside as being personal to the owner of Rath Hall. These were lying on the floor amidst the mass of molten metal that had burnt deep holes in the carpet. Leon examined the books one by one, opening them and running his nail along the edge of the pages. The fourth, a weighty ledger, did not open so easily—did not, indeed, open at all. He carried it to the table and tried to pull back the cover. “Now, how does this open?”
The ledger covers were of leather; to all appearance a very ordinary book, and Leon was anxious not to disturb so artistic a camouflage. Examining the edge carefully, he saw a place where the edges had been forced apart. Taking out a knife, he slipped the thin blade into the aperture. There was a click and the cover sprang up like the lid of a box.
“And this, I think, is what we are looking for,” said Gonsalez.
The interior of the book had been hollowed out, the edges being left were gummed tight, and the receptacle thus formed was packed close with brown papers; brown, except for one, which was written on a large sheet of foolscap, headed:
“Bureau of the Ministry of Colonies, Lisbon.”
Barberton had superimposed upon this long document his Braille writing, and now one of the mysteries was cleared up.
“Lee said he had never received any important documents,” said Manfred, “and, of course, he hadn’t, so far as he knew. To him this was merely a sheet of paper on which Braille characters were inscribed. Read this, Leon.”
Leon scanned the letter. It was dated “,” and bore, in the lower left-hand corner, the seal of the Portuguese Colonial Office. He read it through rapidly and at the end looked up with a sigh of satisfaction.
“And this settles Oberzohn and Co., and robs them of a fortune, the extent of which I think we shall discover when we read Barberton’s letter.”
He lit a cigarette and scanned the writing again, whilst Meadows, who did not understand Leon’s passion for drama, waited with growing impatience.
“Illustrious Senhor,” began Leon, reading. “I have this day had the honour of placing before His Excellency the President, and the Ministers of the Cabinet, your letter dated May 15th, 1912. By a letter dated January 8th, 1911, the lands marked Ex. 275 on the Survey Map of the Biskara district, were conceded to you, Illustrious Senhor, in order to further the cause of science—a cause which is very dear to the heart of His Excellency the President. Your further letter, in which you complain, Illustrious Senhor, that the incursion of prospectors upon your land is hampering your scientific work, and your request that an end may be put to these annoyances by the granting to you of an extension of the concession, so as to give you title to all minerals found in the aforesaid area, Ex. 275 on the Survey Map of Biskara, and thus making the intrusion of prospectors illegal, has been considered by the Council, and the extending concession is hereby granted, on the following conditions: The term of the concession shall be for twelve years, as from the 14th day of June, 1912, and shall be renewable by you, your heirs or nominees, every twelfth year, on payment of a nominal sum of 1,000 milreis. In the event of the concessionnaire, his heirs or nominees, failing to apply for a renewal on the 14th day of June, 1924, the mineral rights of the said area, Ex. 275 on the Survey Map of Biskara, shall be open to claim in accordance with the laws of Angola—”
Leon sat back.
“Fourteenth of June?” he said, and looked up. “Why, that is next week—five days! We’ve cut it rather fine, George.”
“Barberton said there were six weeks,” said Manfred. “Obviously he made the mistake of timing the concession from July 21st—the date of the letter. He must have been the most honest man in the world; there was no other reason why he should have
