Ben led them into the hall, and then into the big front room, which was now flooded with sunlight.
“Look around,” he announced; “and tell me what you see.”
They looked about the room with puzzled faces. “Rats!” exclaimed David. “I don’t see any man here.”
Ben glanced at Tuckerman. “Long, skinny, mahogany-colored legs,” he murmured.
“Not Sir Peter’s portrait?” said Tuckerman.
Ben walked across the room in the direction of the secretary. “When Sally came in here last night,” he explained, “she said something about this desk. ‘Mahogany, I suppose—and what long, fluted, shiny legs.’ Well, it has, hasn’t it?” He laid his hand on the secretary. “Mightn’t this be the man?”
“You’re joking,” Tom protested; while David looked from the desk to his friend’s serious face as if he thought Ben must be plain crazy.
Tuckerman, however, laid his hand also on the piece of furniture. “They liked their little joke in the old days,” he observed. “It might be, Ben. If that’s so——” He turned the small brass key in the lock of the lid, and pulling out the two supports on either side of the lower drawers let the lid down on them. “If that’s so; and this is the mahogany man—where’s his breast pocket?”
There were small drawers inside, and a row of pigeonholes to either side of a central compartment that was also locked by a key.
“Somewhere up in his chest,” said Ben.