The veteran walked away jingling his keys. Barbara was already in the private office bending over the governor's desk. She found the right key, drew out a drawer, then cried out softly. She knelt beside the desk, throwing the papers about in her eagerness, then turned to Griswold with a white face.
"The drawer has been opened since I was here this morning. The requisition and all the other papers in the case are gone."
Griswold examined the lock carefully and pointed to the roughened edges of the wood.
"A blade of the shears there, or perhaps the paper cutter—who knows? The matter is simple enough, so please do not trouble about it. Wait here a moment. I want to make some inquiries of the watchman."
He found the old fellow pacing the portico like a sentry. He pointed out the attorney-general's office, threw on a few additional lights for Griswold's guidance, and resumed his patrol duty outside.
The attorney-general's door was locked, but in response to Griswold's knock it was opened guardedly.
"I am very sorry to trouble you, Mr. Bosworth," began Griswold, quietly edging his way into the room, "but one never gets wholly away from business these days."
He closed the door himself, and peered into the inner rooms to be sure the attorney-general was alone. Bosworth's face flushed angrily when he found that a stranger had thus entered his office with a cool air of proprietorship; then he stared blankly at Griswold for a moment before he recalled where he had seen him before.
"I don't receive visitors at night," he blurted, laying his hand on the door. "I'm engaged, and you'll have to come in office hours."
He shook the door as though to call Griswold's attention to it.