"And nothing more here, either! He has stolen the mortgage deed in Ashton Abbey, and—" Old Frick tore the list out of my hand. "Just look here! Confound him! If he hasn't cut off the bottom part of the list, so that the last item is missing! But bless me, if I can understand what satisfaction he can get out of this mortgage."
"Nor I," I muttered; "mortgages are not papers payable to bearer, so any one can make them into ready money. You need only write to England to get a new copy of the mortgage."
"Monk knows very well what it all means," exclaimed Clara; "he is only raising our curiosity. If I had known that you would so soon begin with your superior detective ways, I wouldn't have helped you so quickly with the photograph,—that you may be quite sure about."
She glanced with comic exasperation at Monk, who, in return, only smiled pleasantly.
"I must admit that at this moment all is clear to me; but the last knot has only been unloosened two minutes ago. Tell me, Mr. Frick, what mortgage is it that you now speak of, and what was the amount of it?"
"Don't you remember," answered Frick, testily, "I once told you of an old rascal, Davis by name, and how I was lucky enough at last to get at him and make him pay me my share of the money which he had stolen?"
"Yes, of course I remember."
"Yes; and I, also."
"And I, also."
Old Frick looked at Clara and me in astonishment.