"Didn't he keep any papers here?" he added.
"He did, but you fellows impounded them."
"Of course we did," said Langholm, hastily. "Then you have nothing of
his left?"
"Only his pen, and a diary in which he hadn't written a word. I slipped
them into a drawer with his papers, and there they are still."
Langholm felt disappointed. He had learnt so much, it was tantalizing
not to learn a little more. If he could only make sure of that
millionaire friend of Minchin! In his own mind he was all but sure, but
his own mind was too elastic by half.
Crofts was drumming on the blotting-pad in front of him; all of a sudden
Langholm noticed that it had a diary attached.
"Minchin's diary wasn't one like yours, was it?" he exclaimed.
"The same thing," said Mr. Crofts.
"Then I should like to see it."
"There's not a word written in it; one of you chaps overhauled it at the
time."
"Never mind!"
"Well, then, it's in the top long drawer of the desk he used to use--if
my clerk has not appropriated it to his own use."
Langholm held his breath as he went to the drawer in question. In
another instant his breath escaped him in a sigh of thankfulness.
Pages:
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289