“Well, Mr Girtle,” said Capel, at last, in a voice that he vainly strove to make firm; “what have you to say?”
“To say?” said the old lawyer, hastily.
“Oh, it is all a cock and bull story,” cried Artis. “There never was any treasure.”
“Silence, sir,” cried the old lawyer recovering himself. “How can you speak like that in the presence of the dead?”
“Bah!” cried Artis. “Presence of the dead, indeed! Presence of a mummy. Would you have me pull a long face as I went through the British Museum?”
“I would have you behave—”
“You look here,” cried Artis, sharply. “You are executor, and this treasure, if there was one, lay in your charge. It’s nothing to me. If it were, I should call in the police.”
“Mr Capel,” cried the old lawyer excitedly, “I swear to you, sir, that the money and jewels were there a fortnight ago. I came down here with Ramo, and there lay the two cases with their contents.”
“Well?” said Capel, “what then?”
“We carefully closed up the place.”