"Here they are," I said, obligingly offering the package. "We found
them nestling behind a panel--old family hiding place, you know. I can't
vouch for their contents, not being an expert, but Miss Falconer was
satisfied. How about it, now you look at them? Do they seem all right?"
Not paying the slightest attention to my conversational efforts,
Blenheim had snatched the papers, torn them hungrily open, and run them
through. He was bristling with suspicion; but he evidently knew his
business. It did not take him long to conclude that he really had his
spoils.
Folding them up carefully, he thrust them into his coat and stored them,
displaying, however, less triumph than I had thought he would. The truth
was that he looked preoccupied, and I wondered why. For the first time
in all the hair-trigger situations that I had seen him face I sensed a
strain in him.
"So much for that. Now, Mr. Bayne, what do you think we mean to do to
you?" he asked.
"I don't know, I am sure," I answered rather absently; I was weighing
the relative merits of jiu-jitsu and my five remaining revolver-shots.
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