Morrice readily gave his consent; he had a shrewd inkling of the nature of that business, and thought what a smart fellow Lane was. He never let the grass grow under his feet. A few moments after he had hung up the receiver a taxi deposited the detective in Deanery Street. Uncle and niece were sitting together when he entered; they had been talking on the old subject. Lane came to the point at once. “Mrs. Morrice has left, you say, sir. Has she taken her maid with her?” He was informed that she had. They did not know where she had gone to. Rosabelle had said good-bye to her aunt in her own room, had not accompanied her down the staircase into the hall. They had left very quietly, letting themselves out. Presumably they had hailed a passing taxi in the street. “Do you know what they carried with them?” asked Lane sharply. “Yes,” answered Rosabelle. “I went to the top of the stairs with them. Mrs. Morrice would not let me come farther. I think she wanted to slip away as quietly as possible, not to be seen by any of the servants. She had a small attaché-case; her maid carried a similar one.” “Of course, you don’t know what was in those cases?” Rosabelle’s answer seemed to please him. “I was in my aunt’s room while she packed hers. I don’t know what was in the one the maid carried. Mrs. Morrice just put in a few things for the night, saying that she would send instructions for the dispatch of the rest of her private property in a day or two.” “Thank you, Miss Sheldon.” The detective turned briskly towards her uncle. “Well, Mr. Morrice, we have proceeded so far in our investigations into this very painful drama. I want now, with your permission, to proceed a step farther.” Morrice looked at him gravely, and Rosabelle too. In the minds of both had flashed a swift idea of what he had come for. He produced from his pocket a small bunch of skeleton keys, and held them in his hand. “These will open everything in this house that has an ordinary lock, Mr. Morrice. Before this lady’s property is sent to her—and I think she will want it very soon—I wish to examine every box and trunk belonging to her. I cannot, of course, do this without your permission, and I would not ask it if I did not consider myself justified.” For a few seconds Morrice hesitated. Espionage, even practised in a rightful cause, was abhorrent to him, and, base as she was, the idea of ransacking this woman’s property the moment her back was turned repelled him. Lane observed his hesitation and struck in swiftly. “We have discovered so much, Mr. Morrice, that we may as well investigate a little farther. It is in the interests of _everybody_ for whom I act”—he laid a strong emphasis on the everybody—“that we should leave no quarter unexplored.” Those significant words decided the hesitating man. “Do as you wish, Mr. Lane. I am sure you would take no action that did not justify itself to your own conscience.”