"It's done by unscrewing the feet—the little knobs—that the thing stands on. And he demanded of Bickerdale that he should hand that document over there and then! Sharp!"
"And—what then?" I inquired.
Pawley poured out more tea, and stirred it thoughtfully.
"That was where I came in," he said. "I objected—as representing Sir Charles Sperrigoe. I said he was the proper person to have any document, and I was his representative. We were disputing that, and Bickerdale was getting more obstinate about handing anything over to anybody till he knew what he was getting out of it, when you and those police chaps arrived. And the rest you know, Mr. Craye."
"On the contrary," said I, "I don't! I don't know anything. What happened between you and Mr. Parslewe in that kitchen?"
But at that he shook his head, and I saw that there were things he wouldn't tell.
"As to that, Mr. Craye," he answered, "Mr. Parslewe's closed my lips! But he's a gentleman of his word, and after what he said to me, I'd no choice, sir, no choice at all, but to fall
