“Watkins is my man––I mean, Watkins was my man before I found out that he was systematically robbing me.”
“Oh, I remember now. A jolly good servant, though. So he robbed you, did he? But they all do.”
“Yes, but they don’t always get found out––caught with the goods, as the police say. I caught Watkins with the goods and sacked him.”
“But you don’t mean to tell me that you came kiting home from the pyramids and the lovely Sahara desert just because this chap Watkins was dishonest?” said Whitney Barnes, in tones of incredulity.
“No, Whitney,” replied Gladwin, dropping into a chair and puckering his forehead with a frown. “Watkins was only the start of it. I got rid of him six months ago. But while I was on my way to Egypt I learned that Watkins and my lawyer had been in some sort of a secret correspondence before I gave Watkins the bounce.”
“What lawyer? Not ‘Old Reliable’ Forbes? Why, I thought he wore a certified halo.”
“So did I, but I’ve got news to the contrary, and you know he has charge of everything for me––keeps all my securities––has a power of attorney––signs checks and all that.”
“That sounds bad,” said Whitney Barnes, sympathetically. “The old saint could come pretty close to ruining you.”
“Now you’ve hit it,” assented Gladwin. “So I’ve come home to investigate––sleuthing expedition, you might say. Didn’t want him to hear I was coming 55 and climb out. Now you’ve got the answer to the gumshoe riddle. My plan is to lie low and have you look him up. Nothing else on foot, Whitney? Haven’t gone into mustard or Wall street, have you?”