Routing about, Jabez dragged some boxes out of a corner. One was a trunk—one of those old-fashioned mottled-paper covered trunks, which servants used when their dresses were made without flounces and could be folded small.
Holding the candle, and peering down, he was astonished to find a key in the lock. It was one of a bunch: there were a dozen on the ring.
‘Hum!’ exclaimed Jabez; ‘here’s a bit of luck. Now if I only knew where those precious letters are, I could get them as easy as anything.’
Inside the trunk there was something which excited Jabez’s curiosity directly. It was a cash-box, and it was locked.
‘There!’ he muttered; ‘that’s where she keeps her savings. I wonder what she’s got. Perhaps the letters are there.’ He rattled the box, but there was no responding chink.
He took the keys and tried them one after the other.
The last one fitted.
He turned it, and the secrets of Mrs. Turvey’s cash-box were at his mercy.
He lifted the lid and examined the contents. At first a look of astonishment overspread his features, and then the long-absent shine came back to his face once more. It broadened and spread over his bald head—it deepened and wrapped him in one vast smile of joy.
He drew a long breath, closed the box, put it carefully away, and then executed a small war-dance all to himself, knocking over two chairs and causing the toilet-table to rock in response to his elephantine gambols.