Hemming looked at him shrewdly.
“It won’t be any use,” answered he dryly, “until—”
“Until what?”
“Well, sir, if I must say it—until Miss Claris comes back.”
Clifford controlled the anger he felt, since an exhibition of it would only have closed the detective’s lips more tightly.
“I should like you to make the experiment, though,” said he. “Will you make it on my account? I want it very well done, no matter what it costs.”
“You’re throwing your money away, sir,” replied Hemming, civilly. “Still, if you wish it, and choose to pay for it, of course it can be done.”
Clifford found a card, and gave it to the detective.
“There is my address,” said he. “I rely upon you to do your best.”
“And you won’t be dissuaded, sir, from a useless expense?”