David Curtis balanced the Yale key in his hand in deep thought.
“And this key was the only object in Meredith’s safe deposit box?” he asked.
“It was.” Hollister lighted a cigar and puffed vigorously. “Damned odd, isn’t it? Why did Meredith preserve the key so carefully?”
“It might have been left there accidentally.”
“True.” The lawyer pointed to the inventory sheet lying on the window ledge. “That notation reads: ‘Contents of safe deposit box belongs to.’” He folded the paper and replaced it in his wallet. “What do you make of it? There were no ‘contents-’”
“Except this key,” ended Curtis. “But a key has to belong to a—lock.” He smiled. “It is obviously up to you, Hollister, to locate the lock.”
“You think—” Hollister glanced at him keenly as he paused.
“That behind the lock this key fits we may find the missing contents of the safe deposit,” Curtis explained. “I say may, remember, not will; and at that it is only a shot in the dark.”
Hollister looked dissatisfied. “How am I to go about it?” he grumbled. “Inspector Mitchell and I have been carefully through every desk and drawer in Meredith’s bedroom and the library. We have found nothing, documents or otherwise, except what is ordinarily in the possession of a very wealthy man. Meredith, judging superficially, left his financial affairs in good shape.”
Curtis did not answer at once. “This key, you say, is marked ‘duplicate’,” he began finally. “Do you recall seeing its original on Meredith’s bunch of keys?”