“I should like just to take a peep at the room, Bude,” ventured the boy, casting a sidelong glance at the butler.
“Can’t be done, sir,” said Bude, shaking his head; “orders of Detective-Inspector Manderton. The police is very strict, Mr. Wright, sir!”
“There seems to be no one around just now, Bude,” the young man wheedled. “There can’t be any harm in my just going in for a second?...”
“Go in you should, Mr. Wright, sir,” said the butler genially, “if I had my way. But the door’s locked. And, what’s more, the police have the key.”
“Is the detective anywhere about?” asked Bruce.
“No, sir,” answered Bude. “He’s gone off to town, too! And he don’t expect to be back before the inquest. That’s for Toosday!”
“But isn’t there another key anywhere?” persisted the boy.
“No, sir,” said Bude positively, “there isn’t but the one. And that’s in Mr. Manderton’s vest pocket!”
Young Wright wrinkled his brow in perplexity. He was very young, but he had a fine strain of perseverance in him. He was not nearly at the end of his resources, he told himself.
“Well, then,” he said suddenly, “I’m going outside to have a look through the window. I remember you can see into the library from the path round the house!”