It was clear to my eye that this was no ordinary case of robbery. The
search, it was evident, was not for money and jewelry alone, and
bulkier property had been despised. The men who had torn the place to
pieces must, I surmised, have been after papers of some kind.
I came at once to the conclusion that I had been favored by a visit
from my friends, the enemy. As they had failed to find me in, they had
looked for some written memoranda of the object of their search.
I knew well that they had found nothing among the clothing or papers
that Henry had left behind. I had searched through these myself, and
the sole document that could bear on the mystery was at that moment
fast in my inside pocket. I was inclined to scout the idea that Henry
Wilton had hidden anything under the carpet, or in the mattress, or in
any secret place. The threads of the mystery were carried in his head,
and the correspondence, if there had been any, was destroyed.
As I was engaged in putting the room to rights, the door swung back,
and I jumped to my feet to face a man who stood on the threshold.
"Hello!" he cried. "House-cleaning again?"
It was Dicky Nahl, and he paused with a smile on his face.
"Ah, Dicky!" I said with an effort to keep out of my face and voice the
suspicions I had gained from the incidents of the visit to the Borton
place. "Entirely unpremeditated, I assure you."
"Well, you're making a thorough job of it," he said with a laugh.
Pages:
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116