“Has anybody else been here?” he asked. “Only Miss Wilberforce, sir,” said the man. “Miss Wilberforce?” almost yelled Peter. “When did she come?” “About the same time as the officer who sealed the door,” said the butler. “In fact, she was in the study when he arrived. He ordered her out pretty roughly, too, sir,” said the butler with relish, as though finding in Miss Wilberforce’s discomfiture some compensation for the tragedy which had overtaken his employer. “She sent me upstairs to get an umbrella she had left when she was here last, and when I came down she was gone. The officer grumbled something terribly.” Peter went to the telephone and rang up Scotland Yard, but they had heard nothing of the sealing of the house and suggested that he should seek out the Chancery officials to discover who had made the order and under what circumstances. Only those who have attempted to disturb the routine of the Court of Chancery will appreciate the unhappy hours which Peter spent that day, wandering from master to master, in a vain attempt to secure news or information. He went back to the house at half-past four that evening, determined to brave whatever terror the Court of Chancery might impose, and again he was met by the butler on the doorstep, but this time a butler bursting with news. “I’m very glad you’ve come, sir. I’ve got such a lot to tell you. About half-an-hour after you’d gone, sir, I heard a ripping and tearing in the study, and I went to the door and listened. I couldn’t understand what was going on, so I shouted out: ‘Who’s there?’ And who do you think replied?” Peter’s heart had sunk at the butler’s words. “I know,” he said. “It was Four Square--it was Miss Joyce Wilberforce.” “So it was, sir,” said the butler in surprise. “How did you know?” “I guessed,” said Peter shortly. “It appeared she’d been locked in quite by accident by the officer of the Court,” the butler went on, “and she was having a look through his lordship’s desk to find some letters she’d left behind.” “Of course, sir, everybody knows that Lord Claythorpe’s desk is one of the most wonderful in the world. It’s full of secret drawers, and I remember Miss Joyce saying once that if his lordship wanted to hide anything it would take a month to find it.” Peter groaned. “They wanted time--of course, they wanted time!” What a fool he had been all through! There was no need for the butler to tell him the rest of the story, because he guessed it. But the man went on. “After a bit,” he said, “I heard the key turn in the lock, and out came Miss Joyce, looking as pleased as Punch. But you should have seen the state of that desk!” “So she broke the seals, did she?” said Peter, with gentle irony. “Oh, yes, she broke the seals, and she broke the desk, too,” said the butler impressively. “And when she came out, she was carrying a big square sheet of paper in her hand--a printed-on paper, like a bank note, sir.” “I know,” said Peter. “It was a bond.”