“That leads to Lady Maxell’s room,” said the girl; “there is a key on this side.”
This door he found was open and again they found an empty room and a bed which had not been slept in. They looked at one another.
“Wouldn’t Sir John be in his study till late?” asked Timothy.
The girl nodded.
“It is at the end of the corridor,” she said in a broken voice, for she felt that the study held some dreadful secret.
This door was locked too, locked from the inside. By now the policeman was standing on no ceremony, and with a quick thrust of his shoulder he broke the lock, and the door flew open.
“Let us have a little light,” he said, unconsciously copying words which had been spoken in that room an hour before.
The room was empty, but here at any rate was evidence. The safe stood open, the fireplace was filled with glowing ashes, and the air of the room was pungent with the scent of burnt paper.
“What is this?” asked Timothy, pointing to the ground.
The floor of the study was covered with a thick, biscuit-coloured carpet, and “this” was a round, dark stain which was still wet. The policeman went on his knees and examined it.