“I believe so, but I never looked inside. It opened with a spring, the secret of which he alone knew.”
“Who made it? The man who constructed it knew the secret, no doubt. He may be one of those implicated.”
“The piece of board with the spring he brought home with him from Paris one day. It was made there, he said. The steel box was made somewhere in Chelsea.”
“And who fitted the board so evenly?”
“He did himself. He is an amateur cabinetmaker, and at one time used to make furniture. He made that table over there,” she added, pointing to a small round table standing near the corner where was the secret cavity.
“Then no workman was actually employed in fitting it up?” remarked the inspector, disappointedly.
“No. He did it himself, so that nobody should know. And he would not even let me know the secret of the spring.”
“Which showed some distrust,” remarked the inspector. “He evidently possessed something there which he did not wish you to see.”
“Yes. That, however, is not surprising,” she remarked. “Many husbands have secrets—family affairs and such like—with which they hesitate to trouble their wives.”
“Certainly,” he said, glancing dubiously at me, and no doubt recollecting that gruesome object now in the doctor’s pocket. “But it seems very strange that thieves should come here so boldly, attack both you and the maid-servant, and go straight to that secret hiding-place if there was not some very strong motive. They evidently knew there was something there—something of which they desired to obtain possession.”