Wallion was about to speak, but Robertson resumed with feverish haste:
"Go in there, open the window and feel along the molding on the further side; that is where the papers are, wrapped up in a piece of oilcloth. I hid them there."
Greatly surprised, Wallion smiled.
"A very good hiding place, too," he said reflectively. "Things seem quiet enough in the house," he continued, "and those documents I certainly must have...." He lifted a warning finger. "A motor is coming up the drive."
The hum of a motor, and the grinding of wheels on the gravel could be heard distinctly on the other side of the house. Wallion turned to Robertson and said:
"Stay here, and be calm; I'll come back soon, if I can; anyhow, you will be free to-morrow at the latest. Trust me."
He gave a parting nod to the poor man, who looked wistfully after him, and went out. There was no one in the corridor and he locked the door so as not to raise a sudden alarm. On the farther side of the house he heard a door open and stopped to listen. There was no other sound, but he thought he heard the murmur of voices behind one of the doors a long way down. He frowned and hurriedly transferred his Browning from an inner to an outer pocket; then he made his way into the "sweet, little room" which had been the unfortunate man's first resting place in the asylum. It was simple but bright with flowers on the table, most likely put there by Elaine.
But Wallion had no time to waste on details. Without striking a light he opened the window, stepped out, and with his hands groped along the molding above his head. Immediately below he noticed the shining black hood of a motor, with shaded lamps and faintly humming engine, but there was no one to be seen in the drive. Wallion observed these facts mechanically, for his hands had already grasped a roll of something which had been hidden in the molding of the wall above the window. He got down satisfied and elated, and closed the casement again. "At last," he said to himself, "at last the key to the mystery is in my hands." He took a few steps into the room, but suddenly stopped short, every nerve in his body whispered "Danger," and his hands sought his pocket. The electric light was switched on, and in the doorway stood Doctor Corman.
"I beg you to keep quiet," said the Doctor, with his usual cold, well-trained voice, "and hands up, if you please." A revolver gleamed in his hand—and Wallion obeyed.
"Delighted to meet you here en famille, Doctor," he said smiling, "I know now how keenly I appreciated your worth during our railway journey together."