"All right—I shan't tell her unless I have to."
With this I went into the laboratory. During my absence, Prospero or his companion, or both together, had searched the place from top to bottom. Every bottle with a paper label had been carefully washed and the labels removed. Galvanometers, ammeters, voltmeters, all our delicate instruments, including the chemical balanced, had been rendered inaccurate, hence useless until re-calibrated. They had worked with skill, for nothing had been taken. My notes had been burned one by one in a Bunsen flame, and the ashes powdered. A careful inventory revealed a situation difficult to explain to a court of law and still more difficult to prove. It was true the documents weren't there and their ashes were. It was another matter to establish these facts on a witness stand.
I sent for Joe, the day watchman, who had been detained by Knowlton until my examination of the laboratory was complete.
"Who used the laboratory today, Joe?" I asked the burly Pole who looked after the plant on Sundays.
"Mr. Fougeer—an' Mrs. Fougeer—they worked here all day—mos' important job, he tells me—I let 'em in building—he have key to this room."
"What time did they leave?"
"'Bout tree 'clock. I fin' door unlock' near six—Mr. Fougeer, he forgot lock him—I lock door—everything he look O. K. inside."
"All right, Joe. You did your duty," Knowlton said, dismissing him. Naturally we had given orders that Prospero was to have access to the laboratory at any time, not suspecting this form of danger.
"There are three hours unaccounted for with the door unlocked. I suppose that was done with some idea of using it as an alibi," I said.
"It does beat hell, the cussed things that can happen in this world, Ted," Knowlton generalized. "Still, I want to go very easy on any legal proceedings, for two good reasons: it's possible I can talk to Prospero when he's sober, and second, any publicity will put the bank wise that we're in a double extra deep bottomless hole."