“There’s three more rooms,” said West. They entered the Governor’s office.
It was a barer room than the others. It contained a table and a few chairs. There were papers on the table; a locked account book, a list of resident Indians, a list of citizens capable of bearing arms, a diary in cipher. Under the table, in a coffer, were more account books, Cammock’s portolano, and a copy of the same, traced from the originals, now nearly finished.
“You see, West,” said Margaret. “You bear witness that I take these two books?”
“Yes, sir,” said West. He walked over to a corner and picked something up from a chair.
“Isn’t this Mr. Stukeley’s, sir?”
“Yes,” said Margaret, crossing over swiftly. “It’s his hat. And there’s his sword-belt.”
They stood together, looking at the things, wondering how lately the owner had flung them there, as he came in, hot, for the onzas. They felt him to be very near them there. It was as though he were coming sneering towards them, his fine teeth showing. His very words came into Margaret’s mind, with their exact inflections. “Found much? Eh?” Those were the words he would use.
“Hark,” said West suddenly. They listened.
“What did you think you heard?”
“There’s some one speaking in the next room, sir.”