There was a bureau in the room, through which Mr. Delamere proceeded to
look thoroughly. Finding one of the drawers locked, he tried it with a
key of his own, and being unable to unlock it, took a poker from beside
the stove and broke it ruthlessly open.
The contents served to confirm what he had heard concerning his
grandson's character. Thrown together in disorderly confusion were
bottles of wine and whiskey; soiled packs of cards; a dice-box with
dice; a box of poker chips, several revolvers, and a number of
photographs and paper-covered books at which the old gentleman merely
glanced to ascertain their nature.
So far, while his suspicion had been strengthened, he had found nothing
to confirm it. He searched the room more carefully, and found, in the
wood-box by the small heating-stove which stood in the room, a torn and
crumpled bit of paper. Stooping to pick this up, his eye caught a gleam
of something yellow beneath the bureau, which lay directly in his line
of vision.
First he smoothed out the paper. It was apparently the lower half of a
label, or part of the cover of a small box, torn diagonally from corner
to corner. From the business card at the bottom, which gave the name, of
a firm of manufacturers of theatrical supplies in a Northern city, and
from the letters remaining upon the upper and narrower half, the bit of
paper had plainly formed part of the wrapper of a package of burnt cork.
Closing his fingers spasmodically over this damning piece of evidence,
Mr.
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