"But I don't understand," Katharine faltered at last. "That packet has not been out of my possession, and I saw the notes put into it."
"By whom?" Crawshay demanded.
"By Mr. Phillips," she declared steadfastly, "by Mr. Phillips and
Doctor Gant together."
The detective turned the envelope over in his hand.
"The bills seem to have disappeared," he observed.
"They were in that envelope," Katharine persisted. "I have never seen those papers before in my life."
Brightman's face remained immovable. One by one he slipped the papers back into the envelope, thrust them into his breast pocket, and, turning round, locked the door.
"You must forgive me if the rest of our investigations may seem unnecessarily severe, Miss Beverley," he said.
Katharine sank back upon the sofa. She was utterly bewildered by the events of the last few minutes. The search of her belongings was now being conducted with ruthless persistence. Her head was buried in her hands. She did not even glance at the contents of her trunk, which were now overflowing the room. Suddenly she was conscious of another pause in the proceedings, a half-spoken exclamation from the detective. She looked up. From within the folds of an evening gown he had withdrawn a small, official-looking dispatch box of black tin, tied with red tape, and with great seals hanging from either end.
"What is this?" he asked.