“You have not unpacked them? How long have you had them?”
“They arrived last week.”
“But you said—why, surely this might be the missing link. How do we know that there is not something of value there?”
“There could not possibly be, Mr. Holmes. Poor Douglas had only his pay and a small annuity. What could he have of value?”
Holmes was lost in thought.
“Delay no longer, Mrs. Maberley,” he said at last. “Have these things taken upstairs to your bedroom. Examine them as soon as possible and see what they contain. I will come tomorrow and hear your report.”
It was quite evident that The Three Gables was under very close surveillance, for as we came round the high hedge at the end of the lane there was the negro prizefighter standing in the shadow. We came on him quite suddenly, and a grim and menacing figure he looked in that lonely place. Holmes clapped his hand to his pocket.
“Lookin’ for your gun, Masser Holmes?”
“No, for my scent-bottle, Steve.”
“You are funny, Masser Holmes, ain’t you?”
“It won’t be funny for you, Steve, if I get after you. I gave you fair warning this morning.”
“Well, Masser Holmes, I done gone think over what you said, and I don’t want no more talk about that affair of Masser Perkins. S’pose I can help you, Masser Holmes, I will.”
“Well, then, tell me who is behind you on this job.”