“Found what, sir?”
“The diary and the photographs and all Hans Schneider’s stuff. You found it, eh?”
“It’s outside in the car, sir, with some of your personal belongings that got put in the box with it.”
Mr. Moreton nodded. “I know. I put them there myself-on top. I figured that, with any luck, a person opening the box would think that it was all just my personal junk.”
“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you, sir.”
“Of course you don’t. I’ll explain. As administrator I was ethically bound to hand over everything, lock, stock, and barrel. Well, that confidential stuff was something I didn’t want to hand over. I wanted to destroy it, but Greener and Cleek wouldn’t let me. They said that if anything came up afterwards and John J. found out, I’d be in trouble.”
George said: “Oh.” He had not really believed in his suggestion that Moreton, Greener and Cleek had concealed important information. It had merely occurred to him as a means of beguiling Mr. Budd. Now he was a trifle shocked.
Mr. Moreton shrugged. “So all I could do was to try and camouflage it. Well, I didn’t succeed.” He stared out gloomily at the garden for a moment, then turned to George briskly as if to dismiss an ugly memory. “I suppose the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania’s after the loot again, eh?”
“Yes. They want to know if Mr. Sistrom’s going to fight them on it.”
“And Harry Budd, who doesn’t like soiling his dainty fingers with such things, can’t wait to get the thing out of the office, eh? No, you don’t have to answer that, my boy. Let’s get down to business.”