“I’ve no more idea of the solution of the mystery than you have,” he answered. “This article is certainly a curiosity in itself. Fine old beaten copper, beautifully made, and beautifully engraved. But why all this fuss about it—as you say—I can’t think. Still, when a dying man mutters what old Matthew Palkeney did, over and over again, eh? Naturally his man-of-law wants to get at some sort of clearing up. My own notion is that it’s not the copper box, but what may have been in the copper box! Not the case, but the contents—don’t you see?”
“You think something was kept in it at Palkeney Manor?” I suggested.
“Probably,” he assented. “That’s just about what I do think.”
“And that the original thief has stolen whatever it was?”
“Just so! The box may have passed through several hands before it came into Parslewe’s. Parslewe no doubt picked up this thing in some curio shop—the books, too.”
“Have the people of Palkeney Manor any idea as to how the theft occurred?” I asked.
“None!—according to Sperrigoe. But I understand that Palkeney Manor is a sort of show-place. That is, there are certain rooms which are shown to the public, including the library. A shilling fee is charged on certain mornings of the week—the proceeds are given to the local charities. And, of course, Sperrigoe thinks that this box and the books were stolen by some visitor only just before old Mr. Matthew Palkeney’s death. So—there we are! All that’s wanted now is—a few words from Parslewe.”
He then said he must go, and presently we went down the stair and out into the courtyard with him. Old Edie brought out the cob; with his hand on its bridle Murthwaite turned to Madrasia.
“Now just get Parslewe to come straight back and tell me all about it so that I can write to Sperrigoe and clear up the mystery,” he said. “Tell him all I have said, and that he must come at once.”
But Madrasia was beginning to show signs of a certain mutinous spirit.