Darby pulled out his notebook. "I am all attention, my lord."
Garvington plunged abruptly into his account, first having looked to see if the library door was firmly closed. "As there have been many burglaries lately in this part of the world," he said, speaking with deliberation, "I got an idea into my head that this house might be broken into."
"Natural enough, my lord," interposed Darby, glancing round the splendid room. "A historic house such as this is, would tempt any burglar."
"So I thought," remarked the other, pleased that Darby should agree with him so promptly. "And I declared several times, within the hearing of many people, that if a raid was made, I should shoot the first man who tried to enter. Hang it, an Englishman's house is his castle, and no man has a right to come in without permission."
"Quite so, my lord. But the punishment of the burglar should be left to the law," said the inspector softly.
"Oh, the deuce take the law! I prefer to execute my own punishments. However, to make a long story short, I grew more afraid of a raid when these gypsies came to camp at Abbot's Wood, as they are just the sort of scoundrels who would break in and steal."
"Why didn't you order them off your land?" asked the policeman, alertly.
"I did, and then my brother-in-law sent a message through his secretary, who is staying here, asking me to allow them to remain. I did."
"Why did Sir Hubert send that message, my lord?"
"Hang it, man, that's just what I am trying to learn, and I am the more puzzled because he came last night dressed as a gypsy."