“I suggest nothing,” Gregory interrupted. “All I know is that my moral self—if I may use rather a grandiloquent term—was completely upset. I locked myself into my cabin with the Image. Soon after the ship sailed. Of course I know,” he went on, “this must all sound stupidly inadequate, but there it is. Superstition or no superstition, I swear that that Image has an evil influence. I have proved it.”
Claire looked thoughtfully up into the trees; her uncle stroked his chin with an air of profound meditation.
“Well,” he enquired, “have you found the fortune yet?”
“Not yet,” Gregory admitted. “My father has had an expert down and he can discover no trace of any hiding place in it.”
Mr. Endacott smiled very faintly.
“You must find that disappointing,” he observed, “after all your efforts.”
“If the jewels are not in this one,” Gregory said, “they are probably in the other.”
“Ah!” Mr. Endacott murmured.
“If it is not an impertinent question, sir,” he proceeded, “is it true that Johnson and Company are relinquishing the business?”
“Quite true.”