"Then he must have tidied up after we left?"
"Yes, sir."
Bullard gave a tiny cough and glanced at Lancaster, who immediately said in a somewhat recitative fashion:
"I stick to my theory, Bullard, that Mr. Craig, in placing some of his own papers in a green metal box, placed ours along with them."
Bullard turned to the servant with a frank look of appeal. "A green metal box. Can you help us, Caw?"
It was on Caw's tongue to reply "No, sir." But in that moment, as it does with most of us at times, vanity pushed aside discretion. "Yes, sir," he answered. "I was the last to see inside that box, closing it at Mr. Craig's request, and I can assure you there were no papers in it."
"Wrong again, Lancaster!" Bullard lightly remarked. Then gravely—"The matter is so serious, Caw, that I must ask you who has charge of the papers and so on upstairs?"
"I, sir."
"And to whom are you responsible?"
"My master and Mr. Alan Craig—till the clock stops, sir."