“It is bad, Mr. Holmes, very bad! Have you heard of the death of the chief?”
“We have just come from his house.”
“The place is disorganised. The chief dead, Cadogan West dead, our papers stolen. And yet, when we closed our door on Monday evening, we were as efficient an office as any in the government service. Good God, it’s dreadful to think of! That West, of all men, should have done such a thing!”
“You are sure of his guilt, then?”
“I can see no other way out of it. And yet I would have trusted him as I trust myself.”
“At what hour was the office closed on Monday?”
“At five.”
“Did you close it?”
“I am always the last man out.”
“Where were the plans?”
“In that safe. I put them there myself.”
“Is there no watchman to the building?”
“There is, but he has other departments to look after as well. He is an old soldier and a most trustworthy man. He saw nothing that evening. Of course the fog was very thick.”
“Suppose that Cadogan West wished to make his way into the building after hours; he would need three keys, would he not, before he could reach the papers?”
“Yes, he would. The key of the outer door, the key of the office, and the key of the safe.”
“Only Sir James Walter and you had those keys?”
“I had no keys of the doors—only of the safe.”
“Was Sir James a man who was orderly in his habits?”