Jasper looked at his wife keenly for a moment or two, and the corners of his lips curled in a satiric smile. He took out his cigar-case, carefully selected a weed, struck a match, lit his cigar, and blew out the flame. Then only did he reply.
"Hardly that, I think, seeing that he was instrumental in getting them locked up. More probably, I should say, in exchange for a few thousand pounds."
This time the shaft struck home. Rosemary had some difficulty in smothering the cry of protest which had risen to her throat. But she recovered herself in less than a second and said coolly:
"The manuscript must be got back, of course."
Once more Jasper shrugged his shoulders.
"It might have been done at the moment; but I was helpless, and you were so concerned for my welfare that you did not raise hell to send the servants after the thief."
"I did not know then—about the manuscript."
"You know now," he retorted, "and have not called the servants yet."
"This is not the business of the servants. I look to you to get me back the manuscript."
"To me?" he rejoined with a harsh laugh. "Are you not putting too great a strain on my allegiance? You know my views. Should I not rather be wishing that damnable spy God-speed?"