unpleasant. To betray herself—as she would if she confessed that she had most carefully and thoroughly read the voucher—was unthinkable.
"You know what was on it," said Beale, in his best third degree manner, "now don't keep us waiting. What was it?"
"A watch, sir."
"How much was it pledged for?"
"Ten shillings, sir."
"Do you remember the name."
"In a foreign name, sir—van Horden."
"Van Heerden," said Beale quickly, "and at what pawnbrokers?"
"Well, sir," said the girl, making a fight for her reputation, "I only glanced at the ticket and I only noticed"
"Yes, you did," interrupted Beale sharply, "you read every line of it. Where was it?"
"Rosenblaum Bros., of Commercial Road," blurted the girl.
"Any number?"
"I didn't see the number."
"You will find them in the telephone book," said Kitson. "What does it mean?"
But Beale was half-way to Kitson 's sitting-room, arriving there in time to meet McNorton who had handed over his charge to his subordinate.
"I've found it!" cried Beale.
"Found what?" asked Kitson.
"The code!"
"Where? How?" asked McNorton.
"Unless I am altogether wrong the code is contained, either engraved on the case or written on a slip of paper enclosed within the case of a watch. Can't you see it all plainly now? Van Heerden neither trusted his memory nor his subordinates. He had his simple code written, as we shall find, upon thin paper enclosed in the case of a hunter watch, and this he pledged. A pawnbroker's is the safest of safe deposits. Searching for clues, suppose the police had detected his preparations, the pledged ticket might have been easily overlooked."
