The key hung to the box by a string. He unlocked the box, took out four loose papers that were in it, spread them open on the table, and began to read them. He had not so occupied a minute, when his face fell from its expression of eagerness and avidity, to one of haggard astonishment and disappointment. But, after a little consideration, he copied the papers. He then replaced the papers, replaced the box, closed the door, extinguished the candle, and stole away.
As his murderous and thievish footfall passed out of the garden, the steps of the notary and some one accompanying him stopped at the front door of the house. The lamps were lighted in the little street, and the notary had his door-key in his hand.
"Pray do not pass my house, Mr. Bintrey," he said. "Do me the honour to come in. It is one of our town half-holidays--our Tir--but my people will be back directly. It is droll that you should ask your way to the Hotel of me. Let us eat and drink before you go there."
"Thank you; not to-night," said Bintrey. "Shall I come to you at ten to- morrow?"
"I shall be enchanted, sir, to take so early an opportunity of redressing the wrongs of my injured client," returned the good notary.
"Yes," retorted Bintrey; "your injured client is all very well--but--a word in your ear."
He whispered to the notary and walked off. When the notary's housekeeper came home, she found him standing at his door motionless, with the key still in his hand, and the door unopened.