Timothy shook his head.
“Open it,” suggested the reporter, and the other obeyed.
The contents were even more astonishing, for they consisted of a thick pad of money. They were new Bank of England notes and were bound about by a tight band of paper. On the band was written in Sir John’s handwriting:
“Proceeds of the sale of stocks held in trust for Miss Mary Maxell. £21,300.”
The detective in charge of the case was a man of many theories. But his new theory was an uncomfortable one for Timothy Anderson.
“This puts a new light upon the case,” said the detective, “and I’m being perfectly frank with you, Mr. Anderson, that the new light isn’t very favourable to you. Here you are, outside the building when the crime is committed. You are seen by a policeman a few minutes after the shots are fired, and a portion of the money stolen from the house is discovered under your pillow.”
“Discovered by me,” said Timothy, “in the presence of a witness. And are you suggesting that, whilst I was with your policeman, I was also driving the car, or that I was wearing Cartwright’s cap which was found in the grounds? Anyway, you’ve the finger-print of your man and you’re at liberty to compare it with mine.”
“It isn’t a finger-print anyway,” said the detective, “it is the print of a knuckle and we do not keep a record of knuckles. No, I admit that the motor-car conflicts a little bit with my theory. Have you any suggestion to offer?”
Timothy shook his head.