Surely the simple
thing was to take the paper, or whatever it was, straight to the
house, lock it up, and leave the cashbox in its usual place? I don't
see, either, what that box was doing, later on, in the brook below my
lodge-gate; for, by every chance that I can reckon, the murderer--
supposing him to be this man Glass--would have pushed on in haste for
Plymouth, whereas my lodge-gate lies half a mile in the opposite
direction."
"Are those all your objections?" asked Mr. Rogers. "Because, if so,
I must say they don't amount to much."
"They don't amount to much," Miss Belcher agreed, "but they don't, on
the other hand, quite cover all my doubts. However, there's less
doubt, luckily, about the next step to be taken. You send Hosken or
some one to Torpoint Ferry to inquire what strangers have crossed for
Plymouth during these forty-eight hours. You meanwhile borrow my
roan filly--your own mare is dead-beat--clap her in the tilbury, and
off you go to St. Mawes, and find out how this man Glass got hold of
a change of clothes. Take Mr. Goodfellow with you, and while you are
playing detective at St. Mawes, he can cross over to Falmouth and
fetch along the corner cupboard. Harry has the key, and we'll open
it here and read what the captain has to say in this famous roll of
paper.
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