“In a certain bank in London,” said Alan quickly; “they are there now in Miss Inderwick’s name along with the peacock.”
“So if you intended to burgle The Monastery,” growled Dick grimly, “you only waste your time.”
Bakche drew himself up proudly. “You speak to an Indian gentleman, sir.”
“I speak to a man who wants certain jewels, and who will stick at nothing to get them,” retorted Latimer bluntly; “how do we know but what you may have murdered Grison?”
“I did not; and,” added the man superciliously, “you will have some difficulty in proving that I did.”
“I am not so sure of that, Mr. Bakche,” put in Fuller; “after all, Mother Slaig can prove that you frequently saw Grison at her house.”
Bakche looked startled and turned gray. “How can she prove that?”
“By means of that tattooed snake you have on your right arm.”
“Ah-r-r-r! So you have been making inquiries? No,” Bakche threw up his hand with a haughty gesture. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say, for I admit that I often visited the house you mention. I knew that Grison had the peacock through his sister. She told me. I tried to get it from him, but he refused to surrender it. But I did not murder him.”
“But you know who did?”