“No one within hearing, lad?”
“Not a soul, sir.”
“It’s not that I mistrust the wench,” the Squire muttered. “She’s a Griffin and a good girl, a good girl. But she’s a tongue like other women.” By this time he had found what he wanted, and holding the bunch by one of the keys he offered it to Arthur. “That’s the key. Now you listen to me. Go down to the dining-room, and don’t you do anything till you’ve locked the door and seen there’s no one at the windows. The panel, right side of the fireplace—are you minding me? Ay? Well, pass your hand down the moulding next the hearth and you’ll feel a crack across it, and, an inch below, another. They’re so small you as good as can’t see them, when you know they’re there. Twist that bit, top part to the right, and you’ll see a key-hole. Turn the key and pull, and the panel comes open, and you’ll see a cupboard door behind it. Same key unlocks it. Are you minding me?”
“I am, sir, I quite understand.”
“Well, on the middle shelf—you’ll see a box. The key to that box is the next on the bunch. Open it and you will have the India Stock Certificates.” The Squire sighed and for a moment was silent. “There’s one for two thousand two hundred, which will do it. Bring it here. You needn’t,” drily, “go routing among the others, once you’ve found it. Then lock up, and slip the moulding into place. But be sure, lad, before you do aught, that the door is locked.”
“I will be careful,” Arthur assured him. “I quite understand, sir.”
“It’s not that I distrust Jos,” the Squire repeated—as if he defended himself against an accusation. “But tell a secret to a woman, and you tell it to the parish.”
“Shall I do it now, sir?”
“Ay. And bring back the keys. Don’t let ’em out of your hands.”
Arthur went downstairs, and as he descended the shallow steps he smiled. Men, even the sharpest of men, were easy to manage if you had patience.