“Tony, my lad, you must not get morbid,” reproved the barrister. “My friends know all about your connexion with the Bechcombes, and are quite prepared to take you on my recommendation. You would not be required to live in, and there is a nice little cottage on the estate near the house that will be placed at your disposal. Your salary will be good, and with what your uncle left you will make matrimony quite possible. Now what do you say?”
“Say? What can I say but take it and be thankful,” Tony responded, trying to make his tones sound as grateful as he could. “Would it be far from town—this cottage?”
“Oh, not far!” the barrister said at once. “At Bramley Hall, near Burford, in the New Forest. It is young Bramley, Sir John's eldest son, you are wanted for.”
“Bramley Hall,” Tony repeated musingly. “I seem to know the name. Wasn't there a burglary there a little while ago?”
“About eighteen months ago,” the barrister assented. “The house was practically cleared of valuables in one night. Even Sir John's safe, which he had deemed impregnable, was rifled. Oh, yes, it made quite a stir. It was said to be the work of this Yellow Gang that folks are always talking about, you know.”
Chapter XII
“I guess you are Inspector Furnival, sir.”
The inspector, with Mr. Steadman, was just about to enter New Scotland Yard. He glanced keenly at his interlocutor. He saw a tall, lantern-jawed, lean-shanked man who seemed in some indescribable way to carry Yankee writ large all over him.
The detective's face cleared.
“Why, certainly, I am William Furnival, sir.”