"Thank you, sir." Caw drew a chair from the wall; for once he was glad to be seated. He told his story in a crisp, straightforward fashion, avoiding side issues, and his listener heard him out in silence.
There was a pause before the latter spoke.
"You've given me something to think about, Caw," he said gravely. "Meantime I'll ask only three questions. Have you any doubt that the box and its contents belonged entirely to my uncle?"
"None at all, sir. I remember his getting the box made—twelve years ago, I should say. Also, I knew he had made a great deal of money and was putting it into diamonds."
"He hadn't a duplicate box?"
"If he had, sir, I should have seen it. For the last two years of his life, I had to look after everything for him, even open his safe."
"I see. Now tell me: Did my uncle and Messrs. Bullard and Lancaster part on good terms that afternoon?"
Caw could have smiled with relief at the form in which the enquiry was put. "Why, sir," he said, with ill-suppressed eagerness, "they shook hands, and my master bade them a kind farewell. Mr. Lancaster was visibly affected."
"And they were back the next night!"
"Six hundred thousand pounds is a lot of money, sir."