“Do you know what they carried with them?” asked Lane sharply.
“Yes,” answered Rosabelle. “I went to the top of the stairs with them. Mrs. Morrice would not let me come farther. I think she wanted to slip away as quietly as possible, not to be seen by any of the servants. She had a small attaché-case; her maid carried a similar one.”
“Of course, you don’t know what was in those cases?”
Rosabelle’s answer seemed to please him. “I was in my aunt’s room while she packed hers. I don’t know what was in the one the maid carried. Mrs. Morrice just put in a few things for the night, saying that she would send instructions for the dispatch of the rest of her private property in a day or two.”
“Thank you, Miss Sheldon.” The detective turned briskly towards her uncle. “Well, Mr. Morrice, we have proceeded so far in our investigations into this very painful drama. I want now, with your permission, to proceed a step farther.”
Morrice looked at him gravely, and Rosabelle too. In the minds of both had flashed a swift idea of what he had come for.
He produced from his pocket a small bunch of skeleton keys, and held them in his hand.
“These will open everything in this house that has an ordinary lock, Mr. Morrice. Before this lady’s property is sent to her—and I think she will want it very soon—I wish to examine every box and trunk belonging to her. I cannot, of course, do this without your permission, and I would not ask it if I did not consider myself justified.”
For a few seconds Morrice hesitated. Espionage, even practised in a rightful cause, was abhorrent to him, and, base as she was, the idea of ransacking this woman’s property the moment her back was turned repelled him.
Lane observed his hesitation and struck in swiftly. “We have discovered so much, Mr. Morrice, that we may as well investigate a little farther. It is in the interests of everybody for whom I act”—he laid a strong emphasis on the everybody—“that we should leave no quarter unexplored.”