They proceeded to the stables, and, arriving there, Scott was puzzled to see Merrick's companion at work and evidently perfectly at home.
"We are going to use your room a while, Matthews," said Merrick, carelessly. Then, noting the surprise on Scott's face, he added, "This is Matthews, the new coachman, Mr. Scott. I thought you knew of his coming."
"At your service, sir," said Matthews, respectfully lifting his cap in response to Scott's greeting, while the latter inquired, as he and the detective passed up-stairs together,—
"When did he come?"
"Yesterday afternoon. He applied for the position, and, as he happened to be an acquaintance of mine, Mr. Mainwaring hired him upon my recommendation. Now," as he locked the door of the room they had entered, "we will open this box as quickly as possible. I suppose there is no key to be found, and, if there were, the lock is too rusty to work."
With the aid of a file and chisel the box was soon opened. The satin linings were somewhat water-soaked and discolored, and the box appeared to be empty, but on opening an inner compartment there were exposed to view a pair of oddly shaped keys and a blood-stained handkerchief, the latter firmly knotted as though it had been used to bandage a wound of some kind.
"Ah!" said the detective, with peculiar emphasis, examining the handkerchief, which was of fine linen, with the initials "H. M." embroidered in one corner. "Did Mr. Mainwaring carry a handkerchief of that style?"
"Yes; he carried that, or one precisely like it, the last day of his life."
"Very good!" was the only reply, as the detective carefully folded and pocketed the article with an air that indicated that he wished to say no more about it. "And these keys, do you recognize them?"
"They were Mr. Mainwaring's private keys to his library and the southern hall."