"Don't talk nonsense; you a lawyer! and talking about burglary! stuff! If you imagine, Mr. Nash, that I'm the sort of person who would commit burglary you're mistaken. Haven't you got all your explanations pat? You've as much right to be here as any man on this side the grave. Very nice room I call this; very nice; well adapted for a gentleman's occupation. The late Oldfield had a pretty taste in bric-a-brac; like Mr. Donald Lindsay, he'd a good eye for a promising investment. I'm a bit of an authority on the subject myself, so I know. There's a pair of powder blue vases over there--both Oldfield and Lindsay seem to have had a liking for powder blue--which wouldn't be out of the way at a thousand. And unless I'm mistaken that cabinet in the corner is a genuine Boule; Oldfield wasn't likely to have anything imitation about his place; if it is I should like to have the coin it's worth in my pocket; perhaps we shall have it in both our pockets before very long, eh, Nash? What do you think? My dear boy, the contents of this room, the mere trimmings, so to speak, are worth a small fortune in themselves, you can take it from me; I was quite right in calling it Ali Baba's treasure-cave." "Morgan, look at this!" "Look at what? Hello! what's that?" Nash was pointing to a large framed photograph, which stood upon a centre table. "It's Miss Lindsay; it's his daughter." "So it is; and a fine photograph too; and a good likeness." "She--she was with him even when he was here." There was an odd catch in his voice; Mr. Morgan was as unmoved as ever. "You mean her effigy was." "And--and look at that portrait over the mantel." "Rather a fine bit of painting; quite decent; good colour; clever drawing; face seems alive." "Can't you see who it is? It's his wife." "Never saw the lady; but I shouldn't be surprised; there's no mistaking the likeness to the girl. So while he was living a double life he was living it with his wife and child; queer thing human nature." "Morgan, I feel as if those women were looking at us." "Looking at us? What do you mean?" "I--I'm sure they can see us; look how they're staring!" "Staring! Nash! Stop that! One would think you'd been drinking; or perhaps it's a nip of something you want; there ought to be a decanter somewhere about." "I want nothing; it would make no difference." "Then let's get to business. I've a theory; you listen, and tell me what you think of it. From what we know of the late Oldfield I rather infer that when he left the flat he left the keys of all these drawers, and cupboards, and things, behind him; that's the kind of thing he would do; and I know that they weren't at Cloverlea; I'm guessing that they're somewhere about the place at this moment. Now what's your idea of the kind of hiding-place he'd choose?" "I don't know; and I don't care." "What do you mean by you don't care? You seem to be in a nice mood, my lad." "I'll not touch a thing here; nothing!"