“Yes, Quenton.”
“Is it the one you gave to the police when they came the next day?”
“Of course. It was still on the chain. But I took it off when I gave it to them. They had only the key.”
“Did you know that while they were working with that key here, another one—the one which finally found lodgment in the slit in the molding upstairs was traveling up from New York in Edgar’s pocket?”
Oh, the joy of seeing her eyes open wide in innocent amazement! She had had nothing to do with that trick! I was convinced of it before; but now I was certain.
“But how can that be? This key opens the way to the secret staircase. I know because I have tried it. How could there be another?”
“If Wealthy were still living I think she could tell you. At some time when you were not looking, she slipped the one key off and slipped on the other. She was used to making exchanges and her idea was to give him a chance to try the key, and, if possible, find the will unknown to you or the police. She had a friend in New York to whom she sent the key and a letter enclosing one for Edgar; and had not Providence intervened and given them both into my hands—”
Orpha had shaken her head in protest more than once while I was speaking but now she looked so piteously eager that I stopped.
“Am I not right?” I asked.
“No, no. Wealthy never knew anything about the key till the police came to try it. I told nobody but—”