Marden paused as though searching for an adjective.
“It seemed to me an angry tone. They raised their voices.”
“As if they were quarrelling?”
“Like that. And then I heard Mr. Chacewater say: ‘So that’s what you’re after?’ Then I heard what sounded like a scuffle and a gasp. I was taken aback, of course. Who wouldn’t be? I stood stock still with the parcel in my hand for a moment or two. Then I got my head back and I pushed open the door and rushed into the room.”
“Be careful here,” Sir Clinton interrupted. “Don’t try to force your memory. Tell us exactly what comes back into your mind.”
Marden nodded.
“When I got into the room here,” he went on, “the first thing I saw was Mr. Chacewater. He had his back to me and was just turning the corner here.”
Marden walked across and indicated the end of the bay beyond the one which contained the safe, the last recess in the room at the end opposite from the door.
“He went round this corner in a hurry. That’s the last I saw of him.”
Marden’s face betrayed his amazement even at the recollection.