“Has Miss Leicester a writing-table of her own?”
“Yes, in her room,” said Alma, and took him up to show him the old bureau.
He opened the drawers without apology, took out some old letters, turned them over, reading them shamelessly. Then he opened the blotter. There were several sheets of blank paper headed “Heavytree Farm,” and two which bore her signature at the bottom. Alma explained that the bank account of the establishment was in Mirabelle’s name, and, when it was necessary to draw cash, it was a rule of the bank that it should be accompanied by a covering letter—a practice which still exists in some of the old West-country banking establishments. She unlocked a drawer that he had not been able to open and showed him a cheque-book with three blank cheques signed with her name.
“That banker has known me since I was so high,” said Alma scornfully. “You wouldn’t think there’d be so much red-tape.”
Leon nodded.
“Do you keep any account books?”
“Yes, I do,” said Alma in surprise. “The household accounts, you mean?”
“Could I see one?”
She went out and returned with a thin ledger, and he made a brief examination of its contents. Wholly inadequate, thought Alma, considering the trouble she had taken and the interest he had shown.
“That’s that,” he said. “Now, George, en voiture!”