"Have you any objection," he asked, "to our examining the parcel which you are carrying?"
"None whatever," Aaron Rodd answered coolly.
Mr. Brodie took it from him and carried it to the desk. The superintendent broke the seals and withdrew the lid from an oblong wooden jeweller's box. There was a mass of cotton-wool inside, which he hastily removed. Then his fingers suddenly stopped. He gazed downwards and frowned. Mr. Brodie's face was a study. The imprecations which broke from his lips were transatlantic and sufficing. Aaron Rodd, emboldened by their consternation, stepped forward and looked over their shoulders. At the bottom of the box reposed a small, black opal scarf-pin, the safety-chain of which was broken. The superintendent rose to his feet, whispered something sharply to Mr. Brodie, who lapsed into a gloomy silence, and turned to Aaron Rodd.
"Do you mind telling me where you were taking this box, Mr. Rodd?" he asked.
"To a jeweller's, to have the pin mended," was the prompt reply.
The superintendent replaced the wadding, thrust the lid back along its grooves, tied up the box and returned it to its owner.
"We are very sorry to have interfered with your mission," he said, "but before you leave us I am going to ask you, so that we may be perfectly satisfied, to allow me to search your person."
Aaron Rodd shrugged his shoulders.
"Pray do as you will," he consented, holding out his arms.
The superintendent went carefully through his pockets, felt his clothing and returned to his place.