Have you got
a place to lock the stuff? I had to cut this lid open with a
chisel."
He indicated the tin dispatch box.
"Better keep it all. You'll want to run through the diary, I
imagine. Tony's got down the things explorer chaps are always
keen about; temperature, water supply, food and all that. . . . .
Now, I'm off. See you Thursday afternoon at the United Service Club.
Better lunch with me."
Then he pushed the dispatch box across the table. The biologist
rose and turned back the lid of the box. The contents remained
as Sir Godfrey's dead son had left them; a limp leather diary, an
automatic pistol of some American make, a few glass tubes of
quinine, packed in cotton wool.
He put the water color on the bottom of the box and replaced
them.
Then he took the dispatch box over to an old iron safe at the
farther end of the room, opened it, set the box within, locked
the door, and, returning, thrust the key under a pile of journals
on the corner of the table. Then he went out, and down the
stairway with his guest to the door.
They passed within a finger touch of Lady Muriel.
The woman was quick to act.
Pages:
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224