There were seven papers of various kinds, both printed and written, and they were all on white paper.
The boy shook his head and swept the papers together into a heap.
“It’s not there?” queried the girl eagerly.
“No!” said Bruce absent-mindedly, glancing round the desk.
“What isn’t?” flashed back the girl.
Bruce Wright felt his face redden with vexation. What sort of a confidential emissary was he to fall into a simple trap like this?
The girl smiled rather wanly.
“Now I know what you meant by saying you had come for the same purpose as myself,” she said. “I suppose we both thought we might find something, a letter, perhaps, which would explain why Mr. Parrish did this dreadful thing, something to relieve this awful uncertainty about ... about his motive. Well, I’ve searched the desk ... and there’s nothing! Nothing but just these prospectuses and receipts which were in the letter-tray here. They must have come by the post yesterday morning. And there’s nothing of any importance in the drawers ... only household receipts and the wages book and a few odd things like that! You can see for yourself ...”
The lower part of the desk consisted of three drawers flanked on either side by cupboards. Mary Trevert pulled out the drawers and opened the cupboards. Two of the drawers were entirely empty and one of the cupboards contained nothing but a stack of cigar boxes. One drawer held various papers appertaining to the house. There was no sign of any letter written on the slatey-blue paper.
The boy looked very hard at Mary.