"On the contrary, why shouldn't our brave Bart be suspected of precisely the same fraud, and more of it?" I inquired. "If I could steal the things, so could he. If they're my pets, they may be his. And he was on the spot, with a lot of workmen in his pay! Surely such circumstantial evidence against him weighs more heavily in the scales than a mere scrap of paper against me? I've written Sir Jim once or twice, by the way, on business about the Abbey since I've been in Bath. All he'd have to do would be to tear a letter up small enough, so it couldn't be pieced together and make sense——"
"Nobody's weighing anything in scales against either of you—yet," soothed Mrs. Carstairs, "unless you're doing it against each other! But we don't know what may happen. That's why it seemed best for you and Sir James to come together and exchange blows—I mean, views!—at once. He called my husband up by long-distance telephone early this morning, told him what had happened, and had a pow-wow on ways and means. They decided not to inform the police, but to save publicity and engage a private detective. In fact, Sir J—— asked Henry to send a good man to the Abbey by the quickest train. He went—the man, I mean, not Henry; and the head of his firm ought to arrive at our flat in a few minutes now, to meet you and Sir James."
"Sir James! Even a galloping cowboy can't be in London and Devonshire at the same moment."
"Oh, I forgot to mention, he must have travelled up by your train. I suppose you didn't see him?"
"I did not!"
"He was probably in a smoking carriage. Well, anyhow, he'll soon be with us."
"Stop the taxi!" I broke in; and stopped it myself by tapping on the window behind the chauffeur.
"Good heavens! what's the matter?" gasped my companion.
"Nothing. I want to inquire the name of that firm of private detectives Sir James Courtenaye got Mr. Carstairs to engage."
"Pemberton. You must have seen it advertised. But why stop the taxi to ask that?"