“She’s got away,” said he, in a low voice. “We’ve hunted all over the place. There’s no way by which she could have got back into the house.”
“How could she have got far with that short start of you?” asked Hemming, incredulously.
“I don’t know, but she’s done it. I’m going to search the house, so you keep your eyes open.”
The front door had been left open by the Colonel, whom the sergeant found in the dining-room, sitting with head bent over the dying embers of the fire. The man felt sorry for him and spoke in a subdued voice.
“Beg pardon, sir, but I shall have to search the house again.”
The old man acquiesced by a nod, and the officer withdrew. From the ground floor to the first floor, from the first floor to the attics, he hunted in every corner. Hardly in vain. For although he did not find Miss Bostal, he found evidence enough of her predatory habits to convince any jury of her guilt of the minor crime of theft at least.
Under the boards of the attics, sewn up in the mattress of the lady’s own bed, hidden away in holes in the disused chimneys, the officer found a hoard as varied as it was incriminating. Money, in notes and silver and gold; jewelry, of little value for the most part and apparently taken new from shops; half a dozen men’s watches, pencil-cases, purses, pieces of stuff, scraps of lace, card-cases, silver spoons and forks. These were a part only of what he found.
Covered with the dust of years most of them were; the gold and silver tarnished and discolored with age and damp. On the whole a fine collection, and amounting in value to some hundreds of pounds.
Nothing less than a sheet was of any use to hold the collection; and even when the sergeant made his way down the stairs with a huge bundle on his back he felt by no means certain that there was not more behind.
A bent figure stood in front of him at the opening of the dining-room door.