certain guarded inquiries as to Parslewe's status in the neighbourhood. The police know nothing, of course."
There was a brief silence, broken at last by Madrasia.
"Of course, we will give my guardian your message," she said. "Every word! But, Mr. Murthwaite, haven't you any idea of what all this is about? All this fuss, mystery, running up and down country about a copper box—that box?"
Murthwaite laughed, and turning to the sideboard took the copper box from it.
"I've no more idea of the solution of the mystery than you have," he answered. "This article is certainly a curiosity in itself. Fine old beaten copper, beautifully made, and beautifully engraved. But why all this fuss about it—as you say—I can't think. Still, when a dying man mutters what old Matthew Palkeney did, over and over again, eh? Naturally his man-of-law wants to get at some sort of clearing up. My own notion is that it's not the copper box, but what may have been in the copper box! Not the case, but the contents—don't you see?"
