His explanation in itself was simple enough. He had heard of the ruby, of course—who had n't?—and during his wanderings through the house the previous night, while he waited for Maillot to finish his business with Mr. Page, he had paused now and then in the vicinity of the library door. Twice he had heard the gem mentioned by those within.
Maillot accepted this statement with an offensive incredulity which was plainly deliberate.
"The house was very quiet," Burke made haste to add.
"Perhaps," Maillot spoke with sneering emphasis, his look frankly hostile, "perhaps you could have heard us; I 'm ignorant of the degree of acuteness to which your hearing has been developed; but"—turning to me—"I want to say, Swift, that during the whole time Mr. Page and I were engaged in this room, our voices were not once raised so that a person beyond the closed door could have heard us intelligibly. I think, Burke, I see the imprint of a keyhole on your ear."
"Temper your language, Maillot," said the other, with a touch of asperity. Instantly Maillot was upon his feet.
"Shut up!" he thundered. "Don't you talk to me, you scamp!"
"Here, don't quarrel," I interposed pacifically, pressing the angry, glaring lawyer back into his chair with a persuasive hand upon his shoulder. I then said to him:
"You might appropriately relate what your business last night with Mr. Page was."
"I will"—bluntly—"to you."
The proposal being a reasonable one, I agreed to defer the matter.