"Are you aware who I am?" he asked, blandly.
"What does it matter? I've got the other one, and no doubt he will be identified by the police. If he doesn't say too much he may get off with a light sentence. It is quite easy to see that you are the greater scoundrel of the two."
"My dear young lady, do you actually take me for a burglar?"
There was a note of deep pain in Henson's voice. He had dropped into a chair again, with a feeling of utter weakness upon him. The girl's resolute mien and the familiar way in which she handled her revolver filled him with the deepest apprehension.
"I am a very old friend and relative of Lord Littimer's," he said.
"Oh, indeed. And is the other man a relative of Lord Littimer's also?"
"Oh, why, confound it, yes. The other man, as you call him, is Lord
Littimer's only son."
Christabel glanced at Henson, not without admiration.
"Well, you are certainly a cool hand," she said. "You are two clever thieves who have come here for the express purpose of robbing Lord Littimer of one of his art treasures. I happen to catch one, and he immediately becomes the son of the owner of the place. I am so fortunate as to bag the other bird, and he resolves himself into a relative of my host's. And you really expect me to believe a Hans Andersen fairy story like that!"
"I admit that appearances are against me," Henson said, humbly. "But I am speaking the truth."