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Cumshaw was inclined to argue, but the consensus of opinion was against him. The outcome of it was that we decided to retrace our steps. Before we did so I suggested looking about for something that would give us an indication of our present position. I stumbled on it quite by accident. Another step further and I would have fallen down the funnel-shaped opening that gaped at my feet.
Of course it was quite on the cards that they would follow the car, but it was just as likely that they would make no definite move until they had solved the meaning of his change of plans. Cumshaw was still standing like a man in a dream. Bryce placed his hand on the man's arm. "Come along with me," he said. "I'll see that you get safely home."
Then, seeing that he had his man cut off should he attempt to escape, he stepped out into the open and laid a kindly hand on the fugitive's shoulder. Cumshaw turned in a flash, and, in the excitement of the moment, the earth-covered object slipped out of his hands and fell on the grass at his feet. "Where have you been all this time?" Bryce asked jovially. Cumshaw stared at him in a puzzled way.
The announcement had set us talking about our recent experiences, and apropos of them I had uttered the above remark. "I've often wondered," Moira said, "how they first learnt about the treasure." There was silence for a space and then Cumshaw spoke. "I rather fancy," he said, "that they knew about its existence long before Mr. Bryce did."
"It's a funny thing," remarked Bryce, with the adventures of Mr. Cumshaw and the late Mr. Bradby in his mind, "it's funny how history repeats itself." The leader made a step forward and stared intently at Bryce. "You're the man right enough," he said. "Where's your pal?" "Ask me something easy," sneered Bryce, "and I'd be obliged if you'd let me drop my hands awhile.
As a matter of fact I hadn't, but it is always a good rule to allow the other man to think you know everything. "Moira," I said, "this is the Mr. Cumshaw we've been waiting for. Mr. Cumshaw, Miss Drummond." "Pleased to meet you," he said and looked as if he meant it. "Take a seat, Mr. Cumshaw," I said, and when he had accepted a chair, "What can I do for you?" I enquired.
"An excellent suggestion, Mr. Cumshaw," Moira said, and darted a glance of triumph at me. It said as plainly as so many words that here was a champion for her, a man who would defend her against the whole world. Of course I ignored it. What man would do anything else under the circumstances?
I don't like to think of anyone being in there alone, especially at night. You see," she explained to Cumshaw, "the room hasn't been used since Uncle's death. He was killed in that very room ... in front of my eyes." "I understand," said Cumshaw softly, and he rose to his feet and held the door open for Moira to pass out. She led the way to the study and unlocked the door.
"I'm going outside," said Mr. Bradby suddenly, and disappeared through the doorway with suspicious alacrity. Mr. Cumshaw laughed softly. "Weak stomach," he murmured. "Well, someone's got to clear this old chap out, and, as it's certain to be me, I might as well do it first as last."
"I'll read it," Cumshaw volunteered. I nodded to show my agreement. I then threaded the paper through and said, "I'm ready." He began to read it very slowly and carefully, and I typed away as he spoke. I had just got the first four or five combinations down when Moira interrupted me. "I knew you'd make a mess of it," she said coldly. "I told you so at the beginning."
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