Dawkins wetted his thumb and turned a few leaves in the big book.
“Yes, here it is, a post entry, and initialed by both of us. ‘Large, irregular stain on near left-hand corner of leather-desk top, nearly effaced.’ Right ho! let’s have a look!”
He came over, stared hard, and straightened up with an exclamation. “You must have mesmerized me into seeing that before. It’s certainly not there now, and the light is excellent. What do you make of it?”
“What we don’t know won’t hurt us,” said Jarrad with a slow shake of the head. “Initial this erasure, will you. What’s next?”
Dawkins looked troubled, and a little anxious. “But I say—”
“I began just the way you’re going on now, but I got over it. I suggest that so far as this room is concerned we just count the books and articles of furniture, pass on their general condition, and call the thing a go. Your clients are not the kind who give me any worry.”
Dawkins nodded and began the recital, reading from the book in a rapid and level singsong as though he were chanting the creed of his profession.
“General condition excellent,” he concluded, and shut the book.
Mr. Jarrad shook his head. “I can’t agree to that now. The maintenance is not what it was. Quite obvious that the housemaid is untrained or lazy; possibly both. Look at this mantel.”
He drew a finger across the top of the mantel behind the clock, and left a faint trail where the dust had been displaced.