“But he’s got the key!” the girl reiterated.
“What key?”
“The one to the green door.”
“The door of the east wing?” demanded Harris, turning to stare at the open door, on the threshold of which ’Phemie stood.
“Yes. I lost it. He found it. He’s got it somewhere. I found him trying to break into grandfather’s desk.”
“Bad, bad,” muttered Harris, stepping back and allowing the professor room to sit up. “Your interest in old desks seems to be phenomenal, Professor. Did you expect to find Confederate notes in this one?”
“Confound you–both!” snarled Spink, slowly rising.
“I don’t mind it,” said Harris, quietly. “But don’t include Miss Bray in your emphatic remarks. Give me that key.”