"And that is your opinion also?" asked Mr. Jarlcot of Richard Marston.
"Clearly," he answered.
"I'll make a note of that, if you'll allow me," said Mr. Jarlcot; and he made an entry, with Mr. Marston's concurrence, in his pocket-book.
"And now about this," said Mr. Jarlcot, with a clumsy bow to Mr. Marston, and touching the door of the safe with his open hand.
"You have got the key, sir?" said Marston to the good vicar with silver hair, who stood meekly by, distrait and melancholy, an effigy of saintly contemplation.
"Oh, yes," said the vicar wakening up. "Yes; the key, but—but you know there's nothing there."
He moved the key vaguely about as he looked from one to the other, as if inviting any one who pleased to try.
"I think, sir, perhaps it will be as well if you will kindly open it yourself," said Marston.
"Yes, surely—I suppose so—with all my heart," said the vicar.
The door of the safe opened easily, and displayed the black iron void, into which all looked.