“Well, Mrs. Hodges, it’s me again! Do you mind letting me in? I’ve lost a pattern of silk. I think I must have left it in my desk, or dropped it on the floor. Have you come across it?”
“No, miss, I ain’t done your office yet.”
“Then I’ll have a hunt round for it. I want to get up to Bourne’s before half past six. It’s such a nuisance.”
“Yes, miss, and such a crowd always with the buses and things. Here you are, miss.”
She opened the door, and Miss Murchison darted in.
“Shall I ’elp you look for it, miss?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Hodges, please don’t bother. I don’t expect it’s far off.”
Mrs. Hodges took up a pail and went to fill it at a tap in the back yard. As soon as her heavy steps had ascended again to the first floor, Miss Murchison made for the inner office.
“I must and will see what’s behind that panelling.”
The houses in Bedford Row are Hogarthian in type, tall, symmetrical, with the glamour of better days upon them. The panels in Mr. Urquhart’s room, though defaced by many coats of paint, were handsomely designed, and over the mantelpiece ran a festoon of flowers and fruit, rather florid for the period, with a ribbon and basket in the center. If the panel was controlled by a concealed spring, the boss that moved it was probably to be found among this decorative work. Pulling a chair to the fireplace, Miss Murchison ran her fingers quickly over the festoon, pushing and pressing with both hands, while keeping her ear cocked for intruders.
This kind of investigation is easy for experts, but Miss Murchison’s knowledge of secret hiding places was only culled from sensational literature; she could not find the trick of the thing. After nearly a quarter of an hour, she began to despair.
Thump—thump—thump—Mrs. Hodges was coming downstairs.
Miss Murchison sprang away from the panelling so hastily that the chair slipped, and she had to thrust hard at the wall to save herself. She jumped down, restored the chair to its place, glanced up—and saw the panel standing wide open.
At first she thought it was a miracle, but soon realised that in slipping she had thrust sideways at the frame of the panel. A small square of woodwork had slipped away sideways, and exposed an inner panel with a keyhole in the middle.
She heard Mrs. Hodges in the outer room, but she was too excited to bother about what Mrs. Hodges might be thinking. She pushed a heavy chair across the door, so that nobody could enter without noise and difficulty. In a moment Blindfold Bill’s keys were in her hand—how fortunate that she had not returned them! How fortunate, too, that Mr. Urquhart had relied on the secrecy of the panel, and had not thought it worth while to fit his cache with a patent lock!
A few moment’s quick work with the keys, and the lock turned. She pulled the little door open.
Inside was a bundle of papers. Miss Murchison ran them over—at first quickly—then again, with a puzzled face. Receipts for securities—Share certificates—Megatherium Trust—surely the names of those investments were familiar—where had she … ?
Suddenly Miss Murchison sat down, feeling quite faint, the bundle of papers in her hand.
She realised now what had happened to Mrs. Wrayburn’s money, which Norman Urquhart had been handling under that confiding Deed of Trust, and why the matter of the will was so important. Her head whirled. She picked up a sheet of paper from the desk and began jotting down in hurried shorthand the particulars of the various transactions of which these documents were the evidence.
Somebody bumped at the door.
“Are you in here, miss?”
“Just a moment, Mrs. Hodges. I think I must have dropped it on the floor in here.”
She gave the big chair a sharp push, effectually closing the door.
She must hurry. Anyway she had got down enough to convince Lord Peter that Mr. Urquhart’s affairs needed looking into. She put the papers back into the cupboard, in the exact place from which she had taken them. The will was there, too, she noticed, laid on one side by itself. She peered in. There was something else, tucked away at the back. She thrust her hand in and pulled the mysterious object out. It was a white paper packet, labelled with the name of a foreign chemist. The end had been opened and tucked in again. She pulled the paper apart, and saw that the packet contained about two ounces of a fine white powder.
Next to hidden treasure and mysterious documents, nothing is more full of sensational suggestion than a packet of anonymous white powder. Miss Murchison caught up another sheet of clean paper, tipped a thimbleful of the powder into it, replaced the packet at the back of the cupboard and relocked the door with the skeleton key. With trembling fingers she pushed the panel back into place, taking care to shut it completely, so as to show no betraying dark line.
She rolled the chair away from the door and cried out gaily:
“I’ve got it, Mrs. Hodges!”
“There, now!” said Mrs. Hodges, appearing in the doorway.
“Just fancy!” said Miss Murchison. “I was looking through my patterns when Mr. Urquhart rang, and this one must have stuck to my frock and dropped on the floor in here.”
She held up a small piece of silk triumphantly. She had torn it from the lining of her bag in the course of the afternoon—a proof, if any were needed, of her devotion to her work, for the bag was a good one.
“Dearie me,” said Mrs. Hodges. “What a good thing you found it, wasn’t it, miss?”
“I nearly didn’t,” said Miss Murchison, “it was right in this dark corner. Well, I must fly to get there before the shop shuts. Good night, Mrs. Hodges.”
But long before the accommodating
