"How do you know Mr. Beecot's name?" asked Hay, calmly.
"Lor', sir. Didn't you and me pull him from under the wheels?"
"Oh," said Grexon, suddenly enlightened, "were you the boy? Since you have washed your face I didn't recognize you. Well, Beecot, you look disturbed."
"I have reason to. And since you and this boy pulled me from under the wheels of the motor," said Paul, glancing from one to the other, "I should like to know what became of the brooch."
"I'm sure I don't know," said Grexon, quietly. "We talked of this before. I gave it as my opinion, if you remember, that it was picked up in the street by the late Aaron Norman and was used to seal his mouth. At least that is the only way in which I can conjecture you lost it."
"You never saw it drop from my pocket?"
"I should have picked it up and returned it had I seen it," said Hay, fixing his eye-glass. "Perhaps this boy saw it."
"Saw what?" asked Tray, who was listening with both his large ears.
"An old blue-velvet case with a brooch inside," said Beecot, quickly.
Tray shook his head vigorously. "If I'd seen it I' ha' nicked it," he said impudently; "catch me givin' it back t' y', Mr. Beecot. There's a cove I knows—a fence that is—as 'ud give me lots fur it. Lor'," said Tray, with deep disappointment, "to think as that dropped out of your pocket and I never grabbed it. Wot crewel luck—ho!" and he spat.