"Mr John Parham, Keymer, Sydenham Hill, S.E." As I turned it over I
remarked, "This also may tell us something. This Mr Parham is perhaps
his friend." The card-case was empty, but a couple of pawn tickets for
a watch and ring, showing them to be pawned at a shop in the Fulham Road
in the name of Green, completed the miscellaneous collection that I had
filched from the dead man's pockets, and showed that, at any rate, he
had been in want of money, even though he had a few shillings upon him
at the time of his death.
To say the least, it was a strange, gruesome collection as it lay spread
upon the table. To my chagrin one of the blood-stained letters made an
ugly mark upon the long hem-stitched linen toilet-cover.
Eric took up letter after letter, and with knit brows re-read them,
although he vouchsafed no remark.
Who was the man? That was the one question which now occupied our
minds.
"How fortunate we've been able to possess ourselves of these!" I
remarked. "Think, if they had fallen into the hands of the police!"
"Yes," answered my friend, "you acted boldly--more boldly than I dare
act. I only hope that the person who saw us will not gossip. If he
does--well, then it will be decidedly awkward."
"If he does, then we must put the best face upon matters. He probably
didn't see us take anything from the body."
"He may have followed and watched. Most likely."
"We've more to fear from somebody having seen Sybil go to the spot this
afternoon. At that hour people would be at work in the fields, and
anybody crossing those turnips must have been seen half a mile off."
"Unless they made a _detour_ and came through the wood from the opposite
side, as I expect she did. She would never risk discovery by going
there openly."
"But what shall we do with all this?" I asked.
"Burn the lot; that's my advice."
"And if we've been discovered. What then? It would be awkward if the
police came to us for these letters and we had burnt them. No," I
declared. "Let us keep them under lock and key--at least for the
present."
"Very well, as you like. All I hope is that nobody will identify the
fellow," my friend said. "If they do, then his connection with Sybil
may be known. Recollect what the letters say about the maid Mason. She
suspects."
"That's so," I said, seriously. "Mason must be sent to London on some
pretence the first thing in the morning. She must not be allowed to see
the body."
"It seems that Sybil held some secret of the dead man's, and yet was
loyal to him throughout. I wonder what it was?"
"The fellow was an outsider, without a doubt. Sybil foolishly fell in
love with him, and he sought to profit by it. He was an adventurer,
most certainly. I don't like that cipher. It's suspicious," I
declared.
"Then you'll keep all these things in your possession. Better seal them
up and put them in your bank or somewhere safe."
"Yes," I said, "I'll take them to my bank. At any rate, they'll be put
away from prying eyes there."
"And how shall we face her?" Eric asked.
"How will she face us, that's the question?" I said, in a low voice.
Then almost at the same moment we were both startled by hearing a low
tapping upon my door.
Eric and I turned and looked inquiringly at each other.
"It's Budd, your man, I expect," he whispered. "He must not see me.
Perhaps he's heard of the affair and come to tell you. Look, I'll get
in there," and springing across to a big old-fashioned oak wardrobe he
slipped inside and I closed the door noiselessly.
Then, quick as thought, I swept up the letters and other articles upon
the table, placed them in one of the drawers, and stood awaiting a
further summons.
In a moment the low tapping was repeated.
"Who's there?" I inquired, crossing and drawing aside the heavy
_portiere_.
"Wilfrid!" whispered a low voice. "Can you see me? I must speak with
you at once."