"Whose hands, seeing that I am the heir?"
"You forget that Bocaros was the heir for a time. He might have got hold of the deed-box, and then"--Tracey shrugged his shoulders--"It's as plain as day to me!"
"But do you suspect Bocaros of knowing anything of this crime?"
"No. He talked too much nonsense at the outset for that. He gave himself away--always supposing he was guilty. Said that he lived in the neighbourhood--that the money was coming to him--that he could easily have gone to the villa and killed Mrs. Brand and would not be able to prove an alibi by reason of living alone. No! A man who is guilty doesn't give himself away like that. But Bocaros, had he found this message, might have torn it up so as to let sleeping dogs lie."
"Still I don't understand."
"Well, you see he might have fancied--as I do--that a discovery of the papers may lead to the implication of the husband in this matter."
"You think Brand killed his wife?"
"No. It was a woman, and I believe Mrs. Fane for choice. But Brand may have loved Mrs. Fane and so the whole trouble may have arisen. I guess Mrs. Brand was glad to see her husband start for Australia, for I'm certain from this message that he threatened to kill her. Bocaros having got the money, and thinking of his living near Ajax Villa, might have torn it up. Now Mrs. Brand if she was murdered--as she was--wished the assassin to be brought to justice. The concealed papers will give the clue." Tracey rose and looked round the room. "Where the deuce are they, anyhow?"
"Under the coffee stain," said Arnold, not rising, "and I think instead of hunting we had better reason the matter out. A coffee-stain would naturally be on a table-cloth."
"A white dinner table-cloth," assented Tracey sitting, "but she couldn't conceal papers there. I've lifted every cloth in the house white and otherwise--there's white ones here as you see--but I couldn't find anything. You needn't look at the roof, Calvert. The coffee-stain won't be there."