His eye roamed about the room. There was very little cover there, even
for so small a fugitive as a number nine boot. The floor could be
acquitted, on sight, of harbouring the quarry.
Then he caught sight of the cupboard, and something seemed to tell him
that there was the place to look.
"Smith!" he said.
Psmith had been reading placidly all the while.
"Yes, sir?"
"What is in this cupboard?"
"That cupboard, sir?"
"Yes. This cupboard." Mr. Downing rapped the door irritably.
"Just a few odd trifles, sir. We do not often use it. A ball of
string, perhaps. Possibly an old note-book. Nothing of value or
interest."
"Open it."
"I think you will find that it is locked, sir."
"Unlock it."
"But where is the key, sir?"
"Have you not got the key?"
"If the key is not in the lock, sir, you may depend upon it that it
will take a long search to find it."
"Where did you see it last?"
"It was in the lock yesterday morning. Jackson might have taken it."
"Where is Jackson?"
"Out in the field somewhere, sir."
Mr. Downing thought for a moment.
"I don't believe a word of it," he said shortly. "I have my reasons
for thinking that you are deliberately keeping the contents of that
cupboard from me. I shall break open the door."
Psmith got up.
"I'm afraid you mustn't do that, sir.
Pages:
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381