“All very well,” objected Giles, “but he couldn't have been sure that by killing Matthews he was protecting himself. Matthews might have told someone else. In fact, he did. That young sweep, Randall, wasn't drawing a bow at a venture. He knew.”
“He knew, yes, but, if you noticed, Lupton was amazed that he knew. He probably believed Matthews had so far kept the secret to himself.” He picked up Lupton's letter, and placed it in his pocket-book. Then he looked thoughtfully at the desk, and pulled open one of the drawers, and frowned. It was the odds-and-ends drawer. “I wish—I wish very much that I knew what Mr Randall Matthews found to interest him amongst this collection,” he said.
“Was he interested? I didn't notice.”
“I'm nearly sure he was. But whether it was in something which he saw, or in something which he expected to see, and didn't, I don't know. Setting aside his duties as executor—which I don't fancy would worry him much—why did he want to be here when we went through his uncle's papers? What did he think we should find?”
“Perhaps the very thing we did find. That letter of Lupton's.”
Hannasyde considered this for a moment. “It might have been that. It's quite probable, if old Matthews had taken him into his confidence. But what is there in this drawer?”
“You may be right in thinking it is something which is not in the drawer.”
“I may. There is just one thing that strikes me as unusual: there's practically no old correspondence, either here or at Matthews' office.”
“Some men habitually tear up letters as soon as they've answered them,” said Giles. “Are you suggesting that someone's been at work amongst Matthews papers?”
“I'm suggesting nothing,” replied Hannasyde. “But it does seem to me that if Matthews destroyed all his letters himself, it must have amounted to a mania with him.”