“That’s all very well, Mr. Tunbridge. But has it occurred to you that if I steal this paper—I suppose it will be a paper?—”
“Probably several of them—”
“Well, if I take these papers before the Lawsons can get them, how are you going to arrest my uncle and the other men?”
“You,” directed Tunbridge, “will simply make a copy and replace the original documents where you found them. This is a safety-first move. We must have a copy in case the originals are destroyed.”
“It looks like a very complicated matter to me,” Dorothy admitted candidly. “Why not put the old gentleman wise? After all, it’s his formula, and if he made his own copy it would save us a possible run-in with the Lawsons, and—”
Mr. Tunbridge stood up. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said, making a brave attempt to stifle a yawn, “but Doctor Winn would never agree to it. For a scientist who dabbles in high explosives, he’s the most nervous man I’ve ever met. He’d give the whole show away. No, that’s out of the question. Doctor Winn must be kept in ignorance of the whole proceeding. And now—” a yawn got the better of him this time— “and now to bed. You need sleep even more than advice just now. Good night, or rather, good morning, Miss Dixon. Pleasant dreams, I hope.”
He started toward the door and Dorothy sprang out of bed and reached for her dressing gown.
“I want to see that secret passage, Mr. Tunbridge,” she said in a low tone.
“Oh, yes, come along.” He opened the door and stepped inside the closet. “It works this way. Press your foot on the board in the farthest right hand corner, like this, and a panel in the back wall slides up—like that—”
Dorothy stared at the gaping black hole, then as the detective-butler snapped on his flashlight she saw that a narrow circular staircase led downward in the wall.