"You are quite right," Frank replied. "And I'd like to—to shake hands now, dad."
Littimer put out his hand, without a word. The cool, cynical man of the world would have found it difficult to utter a syllable just then. When he looked up again he was smiling.
"Go along," he said. "You're a lucky fellow, Frank. That girl's one in a million."
A dog-cart driven by Chris brought herself and her companion into Moreton Wells in an hour, Frank had struck off across country in the direction of the nearest station. The appearance of himself in More ton Wells on the front of a dog-cart from the Castle would have caused a nine days' wonder.
"Now, what I want to impress upon you is this," said Chris. "Mr. Steel's cigar-case was stolen and one belonging to Van Sneck substituted for it. The stolen one was returned to the shop from which it was purchased almost immediately, so soon, indeed, that the transaction was never entered on the books. We are pretty certain that Reginald Henson did that, and we know that he is at the bottom of the mystery. But to prevent anything happening, and to prevent our getting the case back again, Henson had to go farther. The case must be beyond our reach. Therefore, I decline to believe that it was a mere coincidence that took a stranger into Lockhart's directly after Henson had been there to look at some gun-metal cigar-cases set in diamonds. The stranger purchased the case, and asked for it to be sent to the Metropole to 'John Smith.' With the hundreds of letters and visitors there it would be almost impossible to trace the case or the man."
"Lockhart's might help you?"
"They have as far as they can. The cigar-case was sold to a tall
American. Beyond that it is impossible to go."
A meaning smile dawned on Merritt's face.
"They might have taken more notice of the gentleman at Rutter's," he said, "being a smaller shop. I'm going to admire that case and pretend it belonged to a friend of mine."
"I want you to try and buy it for me," Chris said, quietly.