said: “I want the keys to the chest Papa always kept his papers in. Undoubtedly there are things there that will help me to establish my interests.”
“Tell that to the probate judge,” said Jamie. “If he wants that chest unlocked and the papers that it contains turned over to you, he will send a clerk to go through them with you and to make a record of them and place them in evidence before they are tampered with.”
It happened that Jamie was keeping watch—oblique watch, but nevertheless a sharp watch—on the face of the girl when he made that statement. He saw the arrested breath; he saw the whitened face; he saw the tense pause and the deep thought, and the voice that sometimes talked to him inside himself said to him: “Now she doesn’t like that. She doesn’t want any one present when that chest is opened. She doesn’t want a record made of those papers. She doesn’t like the idea of asking the probate judge to send a man to go through them with her.”
Jamie immediately attached another length of hose and drew his work up the slope until he was opposite the window that gave the best view from the living room.
In this manner time went on. He had occupied Margaret’s house and kept his eye on the young person for two days and one night, and he was fairly well tired out when the young lady passed Margaret Cameron’s and Jamie watched her take the trolley for the city. He went over to the house. He did not see how it could wear the same expression on its face that it had always worn. It would have comforted him if it had looked very much disgusted
