“Don’t give out any information, Murray,” she cautioned.
“Certainly not, miss.” And he hurried away.
Millicent waited until she heard the door at the foot of the attic stairs close, then bent over the trunk and again took out the ledger and carefully tore out a handful of pages. Before replacing the ledger in its hiding-place she felt about under the false bottom until convinced that the article she sought was still there, after which she put back the ledger and the false bottom, rearranged the silks and laces, put in the tray, and locked the trunk.
“If you are not going to drink your coffee, I will,” announced a voice to her left, and a man stepped out from behind the Japanese screen. A low cry escaped Millicent, and her hands closed spasmodically over the pages torn from her ledger.
“Hugh!” she gasped. “Where—where have you been?”
“In town.” Wyndham stopped by the tray and, picking up the plate of sandwiches, handed it to Millicent. She shook her head. “No?” he queried; “then I’ll eat your share.” He poured out a cup of coffee and drank it clear, almost at a gulp. “That’s delicious,” he declared. “I had no idea I was so cold and hungry. Can’t I help you get up?”
But Millicent declined his proffered assistance, and rose somewhat clumsily, both hands engaged in pressing the torn sheets into the smallest possible compass.
“Where have you been, Hugh?” she asked again.
“Sitting on a trunk behind that screen waiting for Murray to go downstairs,” he responded, refilling his cup.
“Then you came up to the attic just after he did?”