As soon as he saw it Kennedy seemed
astonished but not at a loss to account for it.
"I thought he left that sort of thing to the doctors, but I guess
he took a hand in it himself," he muttered, continuing to fumble
with the knives in the drawer. It was no time to ask questions, and
I did not. Kennedy rapidly stowed away the things in his pockets.
One bottle he opened and held to his nose. I could distinguish
immediately the volatile smell of ether. He closed it quickly, and
it, too, went into his pocket with the remark, "Somebody must have
known how to administer an anaesthetic - probably the Wollstone
woman."
A suppressed exclamation from Kennedy caused me to look. The drawer
had a false back. Safely tucked away in it reposed a tin box, one
of those so-called strong-boxes which are so handy in that they save
a burglar much time and trouble in hunting all over for the valuables
he has come after. Kennedy drew it forth and laid it on the desk.
It was locked.
Even that did not seem to satisfy Kennedy, who continued to
scrutinise the walls and corners of the room as if looking for a
safe or something of that sort.
"Let's look in the room across the hall," he whispered.
Suddenly a piercing scream of a woman rang out upstairs.
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