‘He confounded himself in excuses; it was horribly awkward.’
‘Horribly!’ said Merton.
‘He rated the man for visiting his guests’ rooms without his knowledge. I dare say the parson has turned over all your things.’
Merton blenched. He had some of the correspondence of the Disentanglers with him, rather private matter, naturally.
‘He had not the key of my despatch box,’ said Merton.
‘He could open it with a quill, I believe,’ said Blake. ‘They do—in novels.’
Merton felt very uneasy. ‘What was the end of it?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I said that if the man was within his duty the accident was only one of those which so singular a misfortune brings with it. I would stay while Mr. Macrae wanted me. I handed over my keys, and insisted that all my luggage and drawers and things should be examined. But Mr. Macrae would not listen to me, and forbade the fellow to enter any of—the bedrooms.’
‘Begad, I’ll go and look at my own despatch box,’ said Merton.
‘I shall sit in the shade,’ said Blake.