"We might as well close the box first," he said. "Do you have the keys for the padlocks?"
Cranston fumbled in his pockets.
"Here they are." He brought out a bunch of keys and tossed them to the physician. "I shall try them to make sure."
He unlocked each of the closed padlocks. Then, as an afterthought, he walked about the box, thumping it heavily.
"Excellent," he said. "No chance of breakage, no matter how roughly it may be handled."
Savette was coming closer, as though to assist in the examination of the box. Cranston again turned away and went out into the hall. He kicked his portmanteau with his foot.
"That's all packed," he said. "We are ready to go. I just want to make sure that I have everything." He came back after a few moments' inspection in another room. Reaching the den, he picked up a light taboret that stood near the box. It had a deep top, and its octagonal interior was large enough to contain a considerable quantity of articles.
"Are you sure you don't want this?" quizzed Cranston. "It would fit nicely in the box. No chance of its breaking. With the way those sides are padded, I could take a trip in the box myself, without minding it."
"Well," said Savette thoughtfully, "I might take it — no, I don't believe so." Cranston placed the taboret beside the box. Again, Savette moved closer. Once more, Cranston turned away. His eyes were steady as he stared at the physician.
"What is the matter, doctor?" he questioned. "You appear to be a trifle pale. Are you feeling faint? I know — it is the stuffiness of this room. Come — let us go downstairs and see if the truck is there. The fresh air will do you good."