The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack. R. Austin Freeman

publicly exonerated.”

      “You are quite right, Doctor,” Miller admitted, regretfully; “though it seems a pity, as the poor devil is dead and we’ve got the swag back. But, as you say, justice is justice. The innocent man ought to be cleared.”

      He took out the last remaining box, and having opened it and looked in, handed it to Thorndyke and cast a final glance into the cavity.

      “Hallo!” he exclaimed, reaching into the back of the space, “here’s something wrapped in paper—a key, by Jove!”

      “Ah,” said Thorndyke, taking it from him and inspecting it curiously, “the key of the strong-room. I recognize it. Quite a well-made key, too. I think we ought to hand that to Woodstock at once; and perhaps it would be as well to hand him the gems, too, and get his receipt for them. We don’t want property of this value—something like a hundred thousand pounds—on our hands any longer than we can help. What do you say?”

      “I say let us get rid of them at once if we can. But we must seal the boxes before we hand them over. And we must seal up these rooms until the property has been checked by Hollis. Let us put the books back in the cupboard and then, perhaps, you might go and find Woodstock while I keep guard on the treasure-trove.”

      They fell to work repacking the cupboard with the albums and magazines which they had taken out; and had nearly finished when they became aware of voices below and then of hurried footsteps on the stairs. A few moments later the door was flung open and Mr. Woodstock and Mr. Hepburn strode into the room.

      “May I ask,” the former demanded, glaring at Miller, “who the deuce you are and what is the meaning of this indecent invasion? The housekeeper tells me that you profess to have come here to search for missing property. What property are you searching for, and what is your authority?”

      The superintendent quietly explained who he was and exhibited his warrant.

      “Ha!” exclaimed Woodstock, with a withering glance at Thorndyke. “And I suppose you are making this ridiculous search at the suggestion of this gentleman?”

      “You are quite correct, sir,” replied Miller. “The warrant was issued on information supplied by Dr. Thorndyke.”

      “Ha!” was the contemptuous comment. “You obtained a warrant to search the private residence of a man of irreproachable character who has been in my employ for something like a score of years! Well, have you made your search? And if so, what have you found?”

      “We have completed the search,” replied Miller, “and we have found what we believe to be the whole of the stolen property, and this key, which I understand is the key of your strong-room.”

      As the superintendent made this statement, in studiously matter-of-fact tones, Mr. Woodstock’s jaw fell and his eyes opened until he appeared the very picture of astonishment. Nor was his colleague, Mr. Hepburn, less amazed; and for a space of some seconds the two solicitors stood speechless looking from one another to the wooden-faced but secretly amused detective officer. Then Woodstock recovered somewhat and began to show signs of incredulity. But there was the key and there were the boxes; and it needed only a glance at the contents of the latter to put the matter beyond all question. Even Woodstock could not reject the evidence of his eyesight.

      “But,” he said with a puzzled air and with new born civility, “what I cannot understand is how you came to connect Wampole with the robbery. Where did you obtain the evidence of his guilt?”

      “I obtained it,” Thorndyke replied, “from the dust which I collected from your office floor.”

      Mr. Woodstock frowned impatiently and shook his head. “I am afraid,” he said, coldly, “you are speaking a language that I don’t understand. But no doubt you are right to keep your own counsel. What do you propose to do with this property?”

      “We had proposed to hand it to you to hold pending the formal identification of the gems by Mr. Hollis.”

      “Very well,” said Woodstock; “but I shall want you to seal the boxes before I put them in my strong-room. I can’t accept any responsibility as to the nature of the contents.”

      “They shall be sealed with my seal and the superintendent’s,” Thorndyke replied, with a faint smile; “and we will hope that the seals will give more security than they did last time.”

      This understanding having been arrived at, the boxes were gathered up and distributed among the party for conveyance to the office; and after a short halt on the landing while Miller locked the doors and sealed the keyholes, they went down the stairs, at the foot of which the tearful housekeeper was waiting. To her Mr. Woodstock gave a brief and somewhat obscure explanation of the proceedings and the sealed doors, and then the party set forth for the office, the two solicitors leading and conversing in low tones as they went.

      Arrived at their destination, the formalities were soon disposed of. Each box was tied up with red tape, sealed on the knot and on the opening of the lid. Then, when they had all been conveyed into the strong-room and locked in, Mr. Woodstock wrote out a receipt for “eight boxes, containing real or artificial precious stones, said to be the property of James Hollis, Esq., and sealed with the seals of Dr. Thorndyke and Superintendent Miller of the C.I.D.,” and handed it to the latter officer.

      “Of course,” he said, “I shall communicate with Mr. Hollis at once and ask him to remove these things from my custody. Probably he will write to you concerning them; but, in any case, I shall wash my hands of them when I get his receipt—and I shall take very good care that nobody ever saddles me with portable property of this kind again.”

      “A very wise resolution,” said Thorndyke. “Perhaps you might point out to Mr. Hollis that the boxes ought to be opened in the presence of witnesses, one of whom, at least, should be an expert judge of precious stones. I shall write to him tonight, before I leave the town, to the same effect. We all want the restitution to be definitely proved and acknowledged.”

      “That is perfectly true,” Woodstock admitted; “and perhaps I had better make it a condition on which I allow him to take possession of the boxes.”

      The business being now concluded, Thorndyke and the superintendent prepared to take their departure. As they were turning away, Mr. Hepburn addressed Thorndyke for the first time.

      “May I ask,” he said, hesitatingly and with an air of some embarrassment, “whether the—er—the dust from our office floor or—er—any other observations of yours which led you to this surprising discovery seemed to suggest the existence of any confederate?”

      “No,” Thorndyke replied, decisively. “All the evidence goes to show, very conclusively, that Wampole carried out this robbery single-handed. Of that I, personally, have no doubt; and I think the superintendent agrees with me.”

      “Undoubtedly,” Miller assented. “I, too, am perfectly convinced that our late lamented friend played a lone hand. You are thinking of John Osmond?”

      “Yes,” Hepburn admitted, with a frown of perplexity. “I am. I am wondering what on earth can have induced him to go off in that extraordinary manner and at that particular time.”

      “So am I,” said Thorndyke.

      “Well, I’m afraid we shall never learn now,” said Woodstock.

      “Apparently not,” Thorndyke agreed; “and yet—who knows?”

      CHAPTER XIX

      Thorndyke Connects the Links

      Early in the afternoon—at forty minutes past twelve, to be exact—of a sunny day in late spring, a tall, hatchet-faced man, accompanied by a small, sprightly lady, strolled at a leisurely pace through Pump Court and presently emerged into the cloisters, where he and his companion halted and looked about them.

      “What a lovely old place it is!” the latter exclaimed, letting her eyes travel appreciatively from the porch of the Temple Church to the façade of Lamb Buildings. “Wouldn’t you like to live here, Jack?”