“Did you open this safe the day after the murder?”
“Yes.”
“Was it properly closed and locked?”
“So far as I could see.”
“I’d have given a hundred dollars if I’d been here,” Trafford said earnestly.
McManus looked at him in surprise.
“Certainly,” he said, “you don’t suspect robbery?”
“I don’t suspect anything,” Trafford replied, somewhat brusquely. “Of all things, I avoid suspicion and guesses. I’d like you to open the safe again.”
McManus knelt, drew from his pocket a paper with a series of figures written on it, and following these with the turnings of the knob, threw open the door. Within was revealed a small iron door surrounded by pigeon-holes, the divisions of wood. Trafford dropped on his knees and gave peculiar scrutiny to the door, and especially the lock. Then he turned towards McManus:
“These two empty pigeon-holes on the left; they were empty when you first opened the safe?”