"I don't know; but if he did, they would be in the little room upstairs. I can see. Were there some papers of yours, Miss Ri? Perhaps I could find them, if you will tell me what they are."
"There were some papers belonging to a particular case which I wanted to get at," she explained.
The lad hesitated when she asked, "Could we go up to the little room?"
"It's not in very good order," he told her. "It's where Mr. Matthews keeps odds and ends."
"We shall not mind the disorder," Miss Ri told him. So he led the way up a narrow stairway to a little attic room with a small dusty-paned window at each end. The room held a motley collection of things: saddles and bridles, a shooting outfit, two or three old hats hung on the wall, one or two boxes of books and pamphlets were shoved under some rough shelves. The boy dragged out a large valise stuffed so full that its sides gaped. It was locked, but from one end hung a cravat, which Mr. Jeffreys drew out, slowly examining it, Miss Ri regarding him questioningly.
"It looks very like one of mine," he said; "but I don't lay claim to a particular brand of tie." He turned over the heavy valise, shaking it from side to side. From the bulging crevice fell a card upon which was printed, "Wyatt B. Jeffreys, Hartford Fire Insurance Co." The young man held it out silently to Miss Ri, who gasped, "Of all things! That settles it."