The detective nodded.
“He looked terribly agitated, and he had a brown leather bag in his hand. ‘I am just going out, Mr. Lander,’ he said—”
“Did he seem surprised to see you?”
“He seemed alarmed,” said Rex. “It struck me when I saw him that my uncle must be ill and I asked him if anything was the matter. He said that my uncle was well but he had sent him on a very important errand. The conversation did not last more than a minute, for Walters ran down the steps and into the road before I could recover from my amazement.”
“He wore no hat?” asked Carver.
Rex shook his head.
“I stood in the hall for a moment, knowing that my uncle does not like people to come in upon him unless they are properly announced. You see, Mr. Carver, the situation was rather a delicate one for me. I had come here in the role of a supplicant, and naturally I did not wish to prejudice my chance of getting the fifty which my uncle had promised me. I went to uncle’s living-room but he was not there, but the door which I knew led to the strong-room was open and he could not be far away. I sat down and waited. I must have been there ten minutes and then I began to smell something burning, as I thought, but which was, in fact, the smell of gunpowder or whatever they use in cartridges, and I was so thoroughly alarmed that I went down the steps and after a little hesitation, knowing how my uncle hated being overlooked, I went on to the door of the vault. It was locked and I rapped on the ventilator but had no reply. Then I peeped through. It was horrible,” he shuddered. “As fast as I could I ran up the stairs into the street, intending to call a policeman and I saw you.”
“Whilst you were in the house you heard no sound to suggest that there was anybody else present? Where are the servants?”
“There is only the cook,” said Rex and Carver went in search of her.
But the kitchen was closed and deserted. It was apparently the cook’s day off.