“What!” cried Brett. “Do you mean to say that you have destroyed the documents deposited by the Japanese on the writing-desk?”
“Not exactly all,” was the cool reply. “We picked out those referring to Margaret, and made an end of them. We hope to be able to do the same with regard to papers discovered on Capella’s body or among his belongings. Those bearing on Ooma himself are here”—and he pointed to a small packet, neatly tied up, reposing on the mantelpiece.
“You have done a somewhat serious thing.”
“We don’t care a cent about that. Robert and I have both agreed that what Margaret has she keeps. There may, in course of time, be very good reason for this action. Anyhow, I have acted to please myself, and my father will, I am sure, approve of what I have done.”
Brett shook his head. No lawyer could approve of these rough-and-ready settlements of important family affairs.
“Has anyone telegraphed to Mrs. Capella?” he inquired.
“Yes,” said Robert, “I did. I just said ‘Ooma dead; Capella reported seriously ill. Remain in Whitby. I will join you to-morrow evening.’ That, I thought, was enough for a start.”
It certainly was.
Soon there came excited messages from both Margaret and Helen demanding more details, whereupon Brett, who knew that suspense was more unbearable than full knowledge, sent a fairly complete account of occurrences.
During the next few days there was the usual commotion in the Press that follows the opening up of the secret records of a great and mysterious crime.