He put his hand into the recess and withdrew several other pieces of jewellery which he added to the shining heap on the table. Then he closed the drawer, dropped the arras, and came back to the Chess-board.
“You remember you told us that after the Corinthian’s death they found the pieces on this board in the position shown on the document? It’s pretty obvious what was in his mind. He knew that he might be killed in a few minutes. Probably he mistrusted his servants and was afraid to leave family jewellery at their mercy. So he opened the secret recess, tumbled the jewels into it—the Talisman was in it already—and then he closed his combination lock . . . thus.”
Westenhanger walked on to the Chessboard and lifted the white knight from Queen’s Seventh.
“One reverses the four moves, so, bringing the knight back to its starting-point on the knight’s square.”
He suited the action to the word, carrying out the four operations in the reverse order.
“Now the drawer is locked,” he explained. “That’s what the Corinthian did, just before he went out to his duel. And that’s why they found the Chess-board in this state. Probably he hadn’t time enough to put the pieces away in the cupboard, so he left them standing as they were. They gave nothing away.”
He picked up the document, the wrinkled leather disc, and his own “sucker”; and handed them across the table.
“That finishes our part, Mr. Dangerfield. Now, perhaps, you’ll tell us what you wish us to hear.”
Rollo Dangerfield’s face had regained its accustomed serenity. The tinge of suspicion had vanished completely and was replaced by a trustful expression, as he looked at his two guests. He turned first to Eileen.
“I am sorry you have been kept waiting for an answer to your question, Miss Cressage. It was my fault. You will forgive an old man’s impatience when I tell you that you and Mr. Westenhanger have cleared up something which has hung over fifty years of my life. And there are other reasons, too, as you will hear.”