“I don’t say it is any fault of yours,” returned the inspector, testily. “I only say it’s unfortunate, that’s all—confoundedly unfortunate, when you’ve bagged your bird, to let him fly away. I say again, it’s unfortunate; but talking wont mend the matter. Let’s search the house, Jawkins.”
This was addressed to the constable.
“You see this?” remarked Gatliffe, pointing significantly to the bag.
The constable opened it, and drew forth one article after the other in the usual systematic and professional manner invariably adopted by gentlemen of his profession.
“He meant walking away with a tolerably rich booty,” observed the inspector. “Ah! he knew his business—not the least doubt of that.”
Gatliffe was ready to sink through the floor; he was so abashed and humiliated at the contemptible part he had been playing, which was, to say the truth, altogether foreign to his nature.
After the bag had been emptied of its contents the police-officers proceeded downstairs. They were followed by the young engineer and the servant girl.
The other pile of valuables was discovered on the table in the back parlour. These of course underwent inspection. During the examination of each separate article Gatliffe was perfectly appalled at the magnitude of the projected robbery; but he said nothing, being, in fact, too depressed to venture too many observations.
“Here is where the rascal gained an entrance into the premises,” pointing to the folding-doors which led into the conservatory, which gave unmistakeable indications of the marks made by the burglar’s instruments.
A rapid and rigid search was now made in the grounds, both in the rear and in the front of the house.