“Yes, sir; he had a fine one on his watch-chain, but it wasn’t like that,” said Mr. Brown.
“Then how do you know that he lost this? It might have belonged to some one else.”
“No; I am sure it was his, for I found it just after he’d been into the office to look after his letters, and there hadn’t been another soul in the room for nigh an hour. I reckon it was one of them things like what he wore, that had been broken, and he tucked it into his pocket and it fell out when he took out his keys to unlock his box,” Mr. Brown explained.
“That might have been the way of it,” Geoffrey said, thoughtfully.
“I went to the door to call him back,” the old gentleman continued; “but he’d got out of sight, so I put it away, thinking I’d give it to him the next time he came, and if you’ll believe it, I’ve never set eyes on him from that day to this.”
“Did he never come again?” Geoffrey asked, surprised.
“Yes, twice, though there was a good while between; but, as it chanced, I was away both times, and of course the boy I hired to help me and take my place at such times—the same one that’s there now—didn’t know him. The last visit he made he gave up his keys.”
“How long ago was that?”
“That must have been as many as fifteen years ago, I should say; I can’t just remember, though,” replied Mr. Brown.
Geoffrey reasoned that probably his father had visited the place while on his way back from California, after he had been to make inquiries regarding his own mysterious disappearance, and having despaired of ever gaining any knowledge of him through Lock Box 43, had surrendered his keys.