"Vy then, 't is rayther fortunate as I did forget my stick or I shouldn't ha' come back for it in time to be o' service to you, Mr. Werricker. By your leave, sir." Saying which, Mr. Shrig took a small, neat implement from one of his many capacious pockets, inserted it into the keyhole, gave it a twist, and the door swung open.
"Ah—a skeleton key, Mr. Shrig?"
"That werry i-dentical, sir."
"Is this how you gained admittance to my chambers?"
"Ex-actly, sir."
"And, being there, read my private letters?"
"Only the vun, sir—dooty is dooty—only the vun. And I've a varrant o' search—"
Entering my small library, I espied Mr. Shrig's knobbed staff lying upon my desk and beside it a letter laid carefully apart from a pile of unopened missives.
"Is this the letter?"
"The werry same, sir."