Basket plunged his net again and again and drew it forth
dripping. Each time as he drew it to shore, he emptied the mud on
the brink and bent over it, the Doctor holding a candle close to
assist the inspection.
As he emptied his net for maybe the twentieth time, something jingled
on the pebbles. Mr. Basket stooped swiftly, plunged his hand in the
slime, and held it up to the light.
"Eh?" said the Doctor, peering close. "What? A latchkey?"
"My duplicate latchkey!" In spite of the heat engendered by his
efforts, Mr. Basket's teeth chattered. "My wife gave it to him the
last thing."
He turned and drove his net beneath the dark water with redoubled
energy. The very next haul brought to shore an even more convincing
piece of evidence--a silver snuff-box.
It was the Major's. Mr. Basket had seen his friend use it a thousand
times; and called Miss Marty forward to identify it. Yes, undeniably
it was the Major's snuff-box, engraved with "S.H.," his initials, in
entwined italics.
The two male searchers, regardless of their small-clothes, now
plunged knee-deep into the pond. For an hour they searched it;
searched it from end to end; searched it twice over.
No further discovery rewarded them.
Here was evidence--tangible evidence. Yet of what? The Major
had visited the pond during his hosts' absence at the theatre, and
had dropped these two articles into it.
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