Mr. Stallard was taken aback all of a sudden. He came to the conclusion that Peace was innocent, and that he—the detective—was making a fool of himself.
“There is no occasion for you to be out of temper, Peace, not the least occasion. Nobody suspects you.”
“I would much prefer your searching the place—I’m not afraid of you or any of your comrades. It isn’t because a man’s been in trouble that he should be hunted down like a wild beast.”
Peace’s effrontery was perfectly overwhelming. So much so that the detective was fairly imposed on. He was duly impressed with the mistake he had made, and with a few more apologetic words left the workshop without further questioning.
“Umph!” ejaculated our hero, “that’s the way to stall them off. He’s got nothing against me—that’s quite certain. It was a mere try on. I wish the idiot had searched the house; much good it would have done him.”
Every effort was made by the constabulary to find out the robber or robbers.
It was generally supposed at the time that there was a gang at work who only paid “flying visits” to the town, and all efforts to trace the property were fruitless.
Peace laughed in his sleeve, and then went on with his usual daily vocation as if nothing had happened.