“A secretary?” she said quickly. “A man—how do you know that?”
“Brown told me himself. I saw him the day before the murder. Apparently Trasmere had treated him badly and had held him off for years by paying him a sum of money.”
She bit her lip in thought.
“Why did he come back?” she said, half to herself. “He might have lived comfortably on the allowance. I suppose it was a good allowance?” she added quickly. “That is all you want to see me about, Mr. Holland?”
“You may have to go to the police station to identify the jewelry,” said Tab, “and they are pretty certain to ask you how the box came into Mr. Trasmere’s possession.”
She did not answer this, and he left her with an odd feeling of uneasiness.
Going to report the result of his interview to Carver, he found that energetic man crawling about the vault on all fours. He looked over his shoulder at the sound of Tab’s footsteps.
“Was Saturday wet or fine?” he asked.
“It was a particularly fine day.”
“Then this must be a blood impression.” He pointed to the floor, and Tab went on his knees at his side. There was a faint half-moon printed on the edge of the concrete. “That is the edge of a heel, and a rubber heel,” said Carver, “which proves beyond any doubt whatever, that somebody came into the vault after the old man was killed, probably went close to the body to see the effect of the shot, and in doing so, got a little of the blood on a part of his heel. The rubber accounts for his coming on Trasmere without the old man hearing him. There is no other impression that I can find.”