That night at ten o'clock I was inside the old curiosity shop, with a
small storage battery in my pocket, and a little electric glow-lamp at
my buttonhole, a most useful instrument for either burglar or
detective.
I had expected to find the books of the establishment in a safe,
which, if it was similar to the one in Park Lane, I was prepared to
open with the false keys in my possession or to take an impression of
the keyhole and trust to my anarchist friend for the rest. But to my
amazement I discovered all the papers pertaining to the concern in a
desk which was not even locked. The books, three in number, were the
ordinary day book, journal, and ledger referring to the shop;
book-keeping of the older fashion; but in a portfolio lay half a dozen
foolscap sheets, headed 'Mr. Rogers's List', 'Mr. Macpherson's', 'Mr
Tyrrel's', the names I had already learned, and three others. These
lists contained in the first column, names; in the second column,
addresses; in the third, sums of money; and then in the small, square
places following were amounts ranging from two-and-sixpence to a
pound. At the bottom of Mr. Macpherson's list was the name Alport
Webster, Imperial Flats, L10; then in the small, square place, five
shillings.
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