At last, then, her curiosity was slightly rewarded.  For the right of the matter was that Anne had been incited to this exploration of Manston’s office rather by a wish to know the reason of his long seclusion here, after the arrival of the rector’s letter, and their subsequent discourse, than by any immediate desire for cleanliness.  Still, there would have been nothing remarkable to Anne in this sight but for one recollection.  Manston had once casually told her that each of the two side-lockers included half the middle space, the panel of which did not open, and was only put in for symmetry.  It was possible that he had opened this compartment by candlelight the preceding night, or he would have seen the marks in the dust, and effaced them, that he might not be proved guilty of telling her an untruth.  She balanced herself on one foot and stood pondering.  She considered that it was very vexing and unfair in him to refuse her all knowledge of his remaining secrets, under the peculiar circumstances of her connection with him.  She went close to the cabinet.  As there was no keyhole, the door must be capable of being opened by the unassisted hand.  The circles in the dust told her at which edge to apply her force.  Here she pulled with the tips of her fingers, but the panel would not come forward.  She fetched a chair and looked over the top of the cabinet, but no bolt, knob, or spring was to be seen.

‘O, never mind,’ she said, with indifference; ’I’ll ask him about it, and he will tell me.’  Down she came and turned away.  Then looking back again she thought it was absurd such a trifle should puzzle her.  She retraced her steps, and opened a drawer beneath the ledge of the cabinet, pushing in her hand and feeling about on the underside of the board.

Here she found a small round sinking, and pressed her finger into it.  Nothing came of the pressure.  She withdrew her hand and looked at the tip of her finger:  it was marked with the impress of the circle, and, in addition, a line ran across it diametrically.

‘How stupid of me; it is the head of a screw.’  Whatever mysterious contrivance had originally existed for opening the puny cupboard of the cabinet, it had at some time been broken, and this rough substitute provided.  Stimulated curiosity would not allow her to recede now.  She fetched a screwdriver, withdrew the screw, pulled the door open with a penknife, and found inside a cavity about ten inches square.  The cavity contained—­

Letters from different women, with unknown signatures, Christian names only (surnames being despised in Paphos).  Letters from his wife Eunice.  Letters from Anne herself, including that she wrote in answer to his advertisement.  A small pocket-book.  Sundry scraps of paper.

The letters from the strange women with pet names she glanced carelessly through, and then put them aside.  They were too similar to her own regretted delusion, and curiosity requires contrast to excite it.