"Then you are quite sure no one entered?"
"Quite sure, sir. I never moved from the door."
"Setting aside Williams's testimony, there was scarcely time for anyone to get in and do mischief," observed Lake. "And no one could take that gold without first getting the keys out of Mr. Brightman's pocket," he rejoined. "For such a purpose, who would dare rifle the pockets of the dead?"
"And then replace the keys," added Lennard.
"Besides," I said impulsively, "no one knew the money was there. Mr. Brightman, myself, and George Coney were alone cognisant of the fact. The more one thinks of it, the stranger it seems to grow."
The moments passed. The doctors and the police had gone away, and nothing remained but the sad burden in the next room. Lennard also left me to go home, for there was nothing more to be done; and Arthur Lake, who had gone round to his rooms, came in again. His conscience was smiting him, he said, for having deserted me. We sat down in the front room, as before, and began to discuss the mystery. I remarked, to begin with, that there existed not the slightest loophole of suspicion to guide us.
"Except one," said Lake quietly. "And I may pain you, Charley, if I venture to suggest it."
"Nonsense!" I cried. "How could it pain me? Unless you think I took it myself!"
"I fancy it was Leah."
"Leah?"