“He must have known. Maurice had shown him the things once at least, if not oftener; and I know there was no secret as to which were the real things and which were the counterfeits.”
Sir Clinton seemed satisfied with this information.
“One last thing,” he continued. “I suppose you could show me where your brother keeps his correspondence. We must get hold of Kessock’s address and notify him about Foss’s death; and there seems no way of doing it as quick as this one. If the papers aren’t locked up, perhaps I could see them now?”
It appeared that the letters were available and Sir Clinton turned them over rapidly.
“Fifth Avenue? That’s satisfactory.”
He put the papers back in their place.
“There’s just one thing more. I’m going to put a constable on guard at the door of the museum for a while—day and night for a day or two, perhaps. You won’t mind?”
“Certainly not. Do as you wish.”
Sir Clinton acknowledged the permission. Then, as though struck by an after-thought, he inquired:
“Have you Cecil’s address?”