"But supposing you got some more blue wax of the same colour—" began Brian. "But, no; of course you'd want the seal. What became of it, d'you know?"
"Father's got it. He keeps it locked up in one of the drawers of the big safe at his office. He showed it to us once. It's on the end of one of those chains that old gentlemen used to wear hanging down under their waistcoats."
At this point the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Guy and Ida, who had just returned from a walk.
"Hullo!" cried the former. "What are you two doing with Uncle Roger's box?"
"Only looking at it," answered Brian.
"What a crank the old chap must have been!" continued Guy. "Why didn't he leave it in his will to be opened at once?"
"I've heard father say that he was always doing queer things," remarked Ida. "Long after his wife died he wouldn't eat his meals unless her place was laid for her opposite to him at table, where she used to sit. For the last five years of his life they say he stayed in the house, and never put his foot outside the door."
"Silly old chump!" remarked Guy. "I wonder if there really is anything in this old box of his. Look here; I'll turn it up, and you listen and tell me if you hear anything move inside."
"O Guy, don't! You may break something!" exclaimed his sister.
"Not I. I'll do it gently. Now listen." Slowly and cautiously he turned the box on end, but its contents did not appear to move.