“And he has not spoken?”
“No, uncle, I think not.”
“Good! But you have not spoken to Mr Maxted?”
“No, uncle. I thought you ought to be the first to hear.”
“Quite right, Tom. I am glad that in so serious a matter you kept your own counsel. I don’t think David would speak. Eh? Yes, Mrs Fidler, we have quite done. Come along, Tom. We’ll go over into the workshop.”
Uncle Richard led the way, gazing keenly up at the little gallery as they crossed the mill-yard.
“Tut—tut—tut!” he ejaculated. “Why, Tom, you might have broken your neck.”
He said no more till they were up in the laboratory, where he examined the bureau, frowning heavily the while, and noting how easily, by the insertion of a flat iron tool, the woodwork could be heaved up, so as to allow the locked drawers to be wrenched open; and there were the marks of chisel or screw-driver plainly showing where they had indented the wood.
Then they went up into the observatory, and the great shutter was examined.
“Hah! I see you have locked the stable door, Tom,” exclaimed Uncle Richard.