“That cannot be for weeks yet,” said Loseis, “and in the meantime I am curious to . . .”
“I have sealed the desk,” said Gault.
“Sealed my father’s desk?” said Loseis, opening her eyes wide.
“My dear girl, consider my position,” he said. “I am an interested party in these matters—or at least I will be so considered; and I have to lean over backwards in the effort to avoid anything which would look like taking an unfair advantage. Imagine my feelings upon retiring that first night, when I found myself alone in the room with all the private papers of my late rival in business! I was shocked; shocked. If the desk had been locked, and the key in your possession it would have been all right; but upon trying it—for my own protection, I found that it was open. Fortunately Moale was in the kitchen. I instantly called him in, and sealed up the desk in his presence.”
“Why didn’t you let me know?” asked Loseis.
“It was late. You had retired.”
“Why didn’t you speak of it next day?”
“I never thought of it. It is customary when a man dies to seal up his papers until his attorney can take charge. I did it as a matter of course.”
“Perhaps his papers are not there after all,” said Loseis.
“Perhaps not,” said Gault, with a seeming open look. “I only moved the cover with my thumb for about a quarter of an inch to find out if it was locked. I know no more than the man in the moon what the desk contains.”