Following this was a revelation:
"Sent telegram to Agnold, advising him to come down at once. This is putting cart before horse--in this instance allowable. Begin now at the beginning of exciting chapter.
"At half-past seven was sitting alone, smoking and ruminating. Door suddenly burst open, and Sophy, no longer Maria, rushes in. I cry--'What, Sophy!' 'Yes,' she says, out of breath, 'it's me. I've got it; I've got it. Where's the other?' (meaning Agnold). I briefly explain that he has gone to London, but will return the moment telegraphed for. 'Do you mean to tell me,' 'I said,' as excited as herself, 'that you've brought the desk?' 'It's 'ere,' she says, and she plumps it on the table, also a large door-key. She had carried the desk wrapped in her cloak. There is no doubt about the article; it exactly answers description given by Agnold. Remarkable girl, Sophy.
"This is her tale--and glad she was to set her tongue going after the lock it has had on it for so many days. At Tylney House one day is so like another that a lengthy experience of it must be perfectly appalling. Sophy says it is like a long funeral. As a friendly patient Sophy had the run of the house, and she knows every room in it except one--Dr. Peterssen's private apartment, which he occupies when he is in evidence. He is seldom in evidence. Absent six days out of seven. As there was no sign of desk in any other part of the house, Sophy decides that it is in Peterssen's room, if in the house at all. She was right.
"Peterssen only been at home two days during Sophy's residence as friendly patient. The first time last week. The second time, this. In point of fact, this very day. Last week Peterssen stopped about two hours in private room. Sophy passed door, through passage, while he was within. Couldn't get a peep. Consequently knew nothing of desk. Peterssen came out of room, locked door, went away. Most girls would have been discouraged at the prospect of such small chance of success. Not Sophy. She had made up her mind that the desk was there. There's nothing like moral conviction. To-day at one o'clock Peterssen puts in an appearance. After dinner, Sophy, on her way into the grounds, passes private room. Door ajar. She gets a peep. On the table sees desk, cedar-wood, inlaid with silver. Heart beats. Time not wasted. Discovery made, but not yet utilized. Watches like a cat. Hears keeper say Peterssen going to stop all night. Heart beats faster. Now or never. But how is this to be accomplished. This explains meaning of such a number of stones thrown over wall. Symbolical, but at the time undecipherable to present writer. Quite clear now.
"At ten minutes past five by Sophy's silver watch (her own property now), letter arrives for Peterssen. Delivered to him by keeper. Evidently unexpected. Evidently of an exciting nature. He reads it, and hurries out of house. What has he done with the key of the private room? Sophy hears a bunch rattle in his pocket as he rushes past her. Almost despairs, but not quite.
"Sophy creeps into passage again. The door is closed. She tries to peep through keyhole, but it is blocked. By what? A key. The key being inside, Peterssen in haste must have forgotten to lock the door. It proves to be so. Sophy has only to put her hand on handle, to turn it softly round, and presto! she is in the room. But the desk is not on table. Where, then? Under the bed. Before you can say Jack Robinson Sophy seizes it, creeps out of room. But first a stroke of genius. She removes key of door from inside to outside, turns it in lock, removes it from keyhole and retains it. Sublime! When Peterssen returns he will find door locked. Will naturally think he has locked it himself. Will feel in his pocket for key, without finding it. Will spend time in searching for it. All in Sophy's favor. Bravo, little one!
"Sophy reconnoitres. Keeper in grounds. Presently enters house, goes up to his bedroom--for private nap, of course. Coast clear. Like a shot Sophy is in the grounds. Like a shot she is over the wall, where there is no broken glass. How she did it she does not remember.. She does not know. Neither do I. But it is done. There she is, over the wall, outside Tylney House, instead of inside, with the key of the door in her hand, and the precious desk under her arm. It takes my breath away.
"Getting here to me takes hers away, She makes mistakes in the roads, and comes seven miles instead of four. But she runs the distance, and here she is.
"'Sophy,' I say, 'you are a treasure.'