Randall drew out his notecase once more. “Where are they?” he asked.
“They're where no one can't get at them. Nor I don't know exactly myself, and he may have taken them away with him.”
“I'll risk that,” said Randall.
“Well, he kept them in one of them safe-deposits,” said Mr Brown reluctantly.
“Of course!” said Randall softly. “Which one?”
“I can't tell you that. He never said, nor I didn't ask. I said it wouldn't do you no good.”
“Where did he keep the key?”
“On his watch-chain. Never off it, it wasn't. I seen it often. That's all I know, and if it ain't enough you can't say I didn't warn you.”
“On his watch-chain,” repeated Randall, the smile fading from his lips.
Mr Brown, watching him, thought the look on his face downright ugly, and said uneasily: “It ain't my fault if you don't like it. I told you the truth, so help me, and that's more nor what I ought to have done. What's it worth—to stop me telling the same to the police?”