“Much obliged to you for your suggestion, Miss Murchison. It was there all the time. Mrs. Pond would have been so much upset. Well, good-night again.” he turned towards the door. “Oh, by the way, were you looking for something?”

“I was looking for a mouse,” replied Miss Murchison with a nervous giggle. “I was just sitting working when I saw it run along the top of the cupboard and – er-up the wall behind those boxes.”

“Dirty little beasts,” said Mr. Pond, “The place is overrun with them. I have often said we ought to have a cat here. No hope of catching it now, though. You’re not afraid of mice apparently?”

“No,” said Miss Murchison, holding her eyes, by a strenuous physical effort, on Mr. Pond’s face. If the skeleton keys were – as it seemed to her they must be – indecently exposing their spidery anatomy on her desk, it would be madness to look in that direction. “No – in your days I suppose all women were afraid of mice.”

“Yes, they were,” admitted Mr. Pond, “but then, of course, their garments were longer.”

“Rotten for them,“ said Murchison.

“They were very graceful in appearance,” said Mr. Pond. “Allow me to assist you in replacing those boxes.”

“You will miss your train,” said Miss Murchison.

“I have missed it already,” replied Mr. Pond, glancing at his watch. “I shall have to take the 5.30.” He politely picked up flatsby & coaten and climbed perilously with it in his hands to the unsteady seat of the rotatory chair.

“It’s extremely kind of you,” said Miss Murchison, watching him as he restored it to its place.

“Not at all. If you would kindly hand me up the others -”

Miss Murchison handed him trubody ltd., and universal bone trust.

“There!” said Mr. Pond, completing the pile and dusting his hands. “Now let us hope the mouse has gone for good. I will speak to Mrs. Hodges about procuring a suitable kitten.”

“That would be a very good idea,” said Miss Murchison. ”Goodnight, Mr. Pond.”

“Good-night, Miss Murchison.”

His footsteps pattered down the passage, sounded again more loudly beneath the window and for the second time died away in the direction of Brownlow Street.

“Whew!” said Miss Murchison. She darted to her desk. Her fears had deceived her. The bag was shut and the keys invisible.

She pulled her chair back to its place and sat down as a clash of brooms and pails outside announced the arrival of Mrs. Hodges.

“Ho!” said Mrs. Hodges, arrested on the threshold at sight of the lady clerk industriously typing away, “beg your pardon, miss, but I didn’t know as how anybody was here.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Hodges, I’ve got a little bit of work to finish. But you carry on. Don’t mind me.”

“That’s all right, miss,” said Mrs. Hodges, “I can do Mr. Partridge’s office fust.”

“Well, if it’s all the same to you,” said Miss Murchison. “I’ve just got to type a few pages and – er – make a precis – notes you know, of some documents for Mr. Urquhart.”

Mrs. Hodges nodded and vanished again. Presently a loud bumping noise overhead proclaimed her presence in Mr. Partridge’s office.

Miss Murchison waited no longer. She dragged her chair to the shelves again, took down swiftly, one after the other, bone trust, trubody ltd., flatsby & coaten, sir j. penkridge and bodgers.

Her heart beat heavily as at last she seized wrayburn and carried it across to her desk.

She opened her bag and shook out its contents. The bunch of picklocks clattered upon the desk, mixed up with a handkerchief, a powder compact and a pocket-comb. The thin and shining steel barrels seemed to burn her fingers.

As she picked the bunch over, looking for the most suitable implement, there came a loud rap at the window.

She wheeled round, terrified. There was nothing there. Thrusting the picklocks into the pocket of her sports-coat, she tiptoed across and looked out. In the lamplight she observed three small boys engaged in climbing the iron railings which guard the sacred areas of Bedford Row. The foremost child saw her and gesticulated, pointing downwards. Miss Murchison waved her hand and cried, “Be off with you!”

The child shouted something unintelligible and pointed again. Putting two and two together, Miss Murchison deduced from the rap at the window, the gesture and the cry, that a valuable ball had fallen into the area. She shook her head with severity and returned to her task.

But the incident had reminded her that the windows had no blinds and that, under the glare of the electric light, her movements were as visible to anybody in the street as though she stood on a lighted stage. There was no reason to suppose that Mr. Urquhart or Mr. Pond was about, but her uneasy conscience vexed her. Moreover, if a policeman should pass by, would he not be able to recognise picklocks a hundred yards away? She peered out again. Was it her agitated fancy, or was that a sturdy form in dark blue emerging from Hand Court?

Miss Murchison fled in alarm and, snatching up the deed-box, carried it bodily into Mr. Urquhart’s private office.

Here, at least, she could not be overlooked. If anybody came in – even Mrs. Hodges – her presence might cause surprise but she would hear them coming and be warned in advance.

Her hands were cold and shaking, and she was not in the best condition to profit by Blindfold Bill’s instructions. She drew a few deep breaths. She had been told not to hurry herself. Very well, then, she would not.

She chose a key with care and slipped it into the lock. For years, as it seemed to her, she scratched about aimlessly, till at length she felt the spring press against the hooked end. Pushing and lifting steadily with one hand, she introduced her second key. She felt the lever move – in another moment there was a sharp click and the lock was open.

There were not a great many papers in the box. The first document was a long list of securities, endorsed “Securities deposited with Lloyd’s Bank.” Then came the copies of some title-deeds, of which the originals were similarly deposited. Then came a folder filled with correspondence. Some of this consisted of letters, from Mrs. Wrayburn herself, the latest letter being dated five years previously. In addition there were letters from tenants, bankers and stockbrokers, with copies of the replies written from the office and signed by Norman Urquhart.

Miss Murchison hastened impatiently through all this. There was no sign of a will or copy of a will – not even of the dubious draft that the solicitor had shown to Wimsey. Two papers only now remained at the bottom of the box. Miss Murchison picked up the first. It was a Power of Attorney, dated January 1925, giving Norman Urquhart full powers to act for Mrs. Wrayburn. The second was thicker and tied neatly with red tape. Miss Murchison slipped this off and unfolded the document.

It was a Deed of Trust, making over the whole of Mrs. Wrayburn’s property to Norman Urquhart, in trust for herself, and providing that he should pay into her current account, from the estate, a certain fixed annual sum for personal expenses. The deed was dated July 1920 and attached to it was a letter, which Miss Murchison hastily read through:

Appleford, Windle.

15th May, 1920.

My dear Norman,

Thank you very much, my dear boy, for your birthday letter and the pretty scarf. It is good of you to remember your old aunt so faithfully.

It has occurred to me that, now that I am over eighty years old, it is time that I put my business into your hands entirely. You and your father have managed very well for me all these years, and you have, of course, always very properly consulted me before taking any step with regard to investments. But I am getting such a very old woman now that I am quite out of touch with the modern world, and I cannot pretend that my opinions are of any real value. I am a tired old woman, too, and though you always explain everything most clearly, I find the writing of letters a gêne and a burden to me at my advanced age.