There was a momentary sparkle under the bushy eyebrows.

“Better not to say exactly, in case of Miss Lucy or Miss Lee being about.”

“Language?”

“Plenty. But what it come to was that someone had been turning over the papers in his despatch-box. I’d Peterson’s key whilst he had a day off. Mr. Ross was out all day, and he’d left his own bunch of keys lying on the writing-table. Mortal careless he was. And next day he had me in and said I’d been at his despatch-box-said his papers had been all turned over. And I reminded him then about the key as he’d lost, but he was past listening to reason, so I just turned my back and walked out. And there was that snivelling hen of a Mrs. Green a-listening on the landing, and I’ll go bail it was she as told the police I’d been given the sack. And that’s what I’d like to know about, Mr. Peter. Thirty years I’ve been here barring the war, and I’m not taking no notice from no one, but if I’m not going to be trusted I’ll be giving you my notice now, and I’ll not be responsible for the keys any more.”

“Good Lord, Rush!” said Peter. “What do you expect me to do with your keys, or your notice either? Why, I remember you putting me across your knee and giving me half a dozen of the best when I broke Miss Lucy’s window with my catapult.”

Rush relaxed grimly.

“A proper young snip, you was! And it wasn’t the window altogether-you’d got me on the side of the head if I remember rightly, and if it had been my eye, where should I have been?”

Peter clapped him on the shoulder.

“Where you are now-porter at Craddock House, I expect. Get along on with you, and take your keys with you!”

Chapter XXXI

When he had shut the door behind Rush Peter turned round, began to cross the hall, and then suddenly stood still. A couple of minutes went by before he said just under his breath, “I wonder-” And then, “well, we’ll have a look-see.”

Next moment he was pulling Lee up out of her chair.

“Shake off dull sloth and come along with me! I want to go through Ross’s despatch-case, and it’s just as well to have a witness.”

“I thought the police had been through everything.”

“They have, my child, and made neat lists. I don’t think I’m going to find another will, or a confession that he was going to commit suicide with his left hand, or anything like that, but Rush has got a yarn about a missing key and Ross having taken it into his head that he had been routing round amongst his papers. Just imagine how he went through the roof. And now he’s quite sure that the person who pinched the key and messed up the papers is the person who shot Ross. So I rather thought I would go through the despatch-case and see whether there was anything there which might-well, I don’t see what it might do.”

“If there was anything there, the police would have found it.”

“It might be something which didn’t mean anything to the police.”

They went into the flat and lifted the despatch-case on to the table.

“You know,” said Lee, “I can’t think what you expect to find. If someone did take Ross’s key and come in here to look for some paper or other, well, they’d have taken it away, wouldn’t they?”

“If they found it,” said Peter, trying keys.

He found the right one and threw up the lid, disclosing a tray with some odds and ends of jewellery, a gold pencil-case, an old-fashioned fob and seals, a small ivory snuffbox, and a thin bundle of letters in a rubber band. Peter took them out.

“Two notes from Mavis. I wonder how fond he was of her-there’s no accounting for tastes.”

“Peter, don’t read them.”

“I wasn’t going to. But as a matter of fact anybody could. They’re only answers to invitations-nothing to them at all-a couple of lines, and her name scrawled all across the page. You know, that does look as if he’d rather gone off the deep end about her. You don’t keep the ordinary social note locked away like that unless you’ve got it pretty badly.”

Lee stood by the table frowning.

“I don’t like it,” she said “-other people’s letters. Peter, don’t!”

He said very seriously, “I think I will, Lee. I’ve got to clear this thing up in my own mind.”

The next letter was on stiff paper and typed.

“From old Prothero-

‘Dear Mr. Craddock,

In pursuance of our conversation on the morning of the tenth instant, I would beg to urge upon you very seriously the necessity of providing against an intestacy. The unsettled property which passed to you under your mother’s will has so greatly appreciated in value on the termination of the long-term leases granted by her grandfather, the late Mr. Margetson Ross, that I cannot believe that you will any longer delay to make testamentary dispositions of what amounts to a considerable fortune.

Yours sincerely,

Thos. Prothero.’

“Old Prothero says Ross really was going to play. The conversation, I gather, was all about Aggie, and good nippy things like-did he really want her to scoop the lot if he walked under a bus on his way home, or words to that effect. Prothero is shaken to the core at the idea of old Margetson Ross’s unearned increment going into Aggie Crouch’s pocket. Well now, to proceed… There are two or three more letters from Prothero about the falling in of those leases-and that’s all here.”

The second tray held quite a number of letters put up in small bundles and neatly docketed-Ada; Stella; Pat; Linda; Ninon; Marie.

Peter whistled softly.

“Bit of a lad Ross-wasn’t he? I don’t really think these can have anything to do with the affair, but you never can tell.”

“There won’t be anything there,” said Lee wearily. “How can there be? If someone shot Ross to get back some letter or paper, well, they wouldn’t come away without it, would they?”

“I don’t know,” said Peter. “They might if they were frightened-or disturbed. But anyhow that wasn’t what I had in my mind.”

“What did you have?”

“I don’t quite know,” he said.

There seemed to be nothing of importance in the letters. Ninon wrote in French, and Ada could not spell. Stella was frankly out for a good time and as much money as she could get. Pat had finished on a blazing row. The date was the year before last-and a great deal of water flows under that sort of bridge in eighteen months. Linda used the pathetic stop, and it was noticeable that only two of her letters had been preserved. Pathos wouldn’t go at all well with Ross.

Peter dropped the packets back.

“As you say, nothing there. And the rest are just business things by the look of them.”

But under the business papers a final packet came to light, quite unbelievably labelled “Miss Bingham.” Peter stared at it incredulously.

“Darling, am I seeing things, or does this docket say what I think it does?”

“It says, ‘Miss Bingham,’ ” said Lee, looking over his shoulder.

“Gosh!” said Peter.

He removed the rubber band. There were three letters. He unfolded the first and read aloud:

“ ‘Dear Mr. Craddock,

I really fail to understand your letter. I am no gossip, but I conceive that I am entitled to my own opinion.

I remain yours truly,

Wilhelmina Blngham.’ ”

The date was June 15th of the current year. “This,” said Peter, “is highly intriguing. What had Miss Bingham been no gossip about?”

“Mavis and Ross, I should think,” said Lee.

“We have now a second letter dated June the twentieth.

“ ‘Dear Mr. Craddock,

I am quite at a loss to understand your tone. I have never received such a letter in my life, and I shall most certainly consult my solicitor. I do not know what you mean by talking about slander. I am sure I have never said anything but the truth, and if that is an offence it is not my fault.

Yours truly,

Wilhelmina Bingham.’ ”