“Well, if it’s not too much draught.” Hollister looked somewhat dubious; he was not a cold-air enthusiast. “Take this seat by the secretary, I’ll sit here.”
A second later Curtis heard the jingle of keys knocking against wood. Hollister caught his inquiring expression.
“I’m going through John’s desk,” he explained. “Inspector Mitchell and Coroner Penfield said they ransacked it thoroughly, without results, however.”
“And what do you expect to find?” asked Curtis.
“The documents John signed last night,” promptly. “Or if not, some clue to their present whereabouts. We could find no trace of them in the bureau or highboy. This,” laying his hand on the secretary, “is the only available place for John to place the papers. He certainly did not leave them lying around the room.”
“Perhaps he gave them to some one,” suggested Curtis, as Hollister inserted a key in the top drawer of the secretary.
Hollister twisted and turned the key before he could get the drawer unlocked. “If John did that, wouldn’t that person come forward now and turn them over to me or to the police?” he asked.
“Provided that person has heard of Meredith’s death,” supplemented Curtis.
Hollister turned his head and stared at him. “Not know of his death!” he ejaculated in astonishment. “If John did give them to any one, that person is living here now. You will recall that no one was admitted to this house after Gerald Armstrong’s departure.”
Curtis tapped his cane thoughtfully. “I do not recollect that the coroner asked if any caller was admitted to the house after Meredith retired to his room,” he said.