“No, sir, nothing. Except maybe the girls’ description. I’ve telephoned that into headquarters and the men will be on the lookout.”
“Good. Well, if you can wait here a few minutes I’ll go and send my mother to bed and then I’ll come back and we can settle what’s to be done.”
Cheyne returned to the drawing room and told his news. “Nothing’s been taken,” he declared. “I’ve been through the safe and everything’s there. And nothing seems to be missing from the room either. The sergeant was asking about your jewels, mother. Have you looked to see if they’re all right?”
“It was the first thing I thought of, but they are all in their places. The cabinet I keep them in was certainly examined, for everything was left topsy-turvy, but nothing is missing.”
“Very extraordinary,” Cheyne commented. It seemed to him more than ever clear that these mysterious thieves were after some document which they believed he had, though why they should have supposed he held a valuable document he could not imagine. But the searching first of his pockets and then of his safe and house unmistakably suggested such a conclusion. He wondered if he should advance this theory, then decided he would first hear what the others had to say.
“Now, mother,” he went on, “it’s past your bedtime, but before you go I wish you would tell me what happened to you. Remember I have heard no details other than what Miss Hazelton mentioned on the telephone.”
Mrs. Cheyne answered with some eagerness, evidently anxious to relieve her mind by relating her experiences.
“The first thing was the telegram,” she began. “Agatha and I were sitting here this afternoon. I was sewing and Agatha was reading the paper—or was it the Spectator, Agatha?”
“The paper, mother, though that does not really matter.”
“No, of course it doesn’t matter,” Mrs. Cheyne repeated. It was evident the old lady had had a shock and found it difficult to concentrate her attention. “Well, at all events we were sitting here as I have said, sewing and reading, when your telegram was brought in.”