Carrington made no further show of fight. He collapsed into his chair, and wiped his wet forehead distractedly.
"You don't mean that," he groaned. "There must be some terrible mistake here. Why, all the evidences pointed to an ingenious and daring burglary. The night watchmen were drugged, as you know, and the thieves employed dynamite to blow up the safes. No one regrets the loss of all those valuables more than I do, but even banks are not secure against the modern burglar. Those safes were crammed full of valuables, as I could easily prove."
"They were," Bates corrected. "But I am in a position to prove a few things, too. You would give a great deal, I suppose, to know where those valuables are?"
Carrington replied to the effect that he would give half his fortune for the desired information. Bates smiled.
"You need not worry about it," he said. "I have a list in my pocket of the big pawnbrokers in London where most of the goods were pledged. In three cases the pawnbrokers in question are in a position to swear to the identity of the man who handled the jewels. You would not, of course, mind meeting these people?"
But Carrington had no reply. He looked so helplessly at Bates that the latter could not but feel sorry for him. "I am afraid the game is up, sir," he said. "My investigations of this case prove most conclusively that you are at the bottom of the whole thing. We know perfectly well that recent speculations of yours have brought about a financial crisis in your bank. In your desperate need, you realized the securities which certain clients had left in your hands. It was only when Lady Barmouth called for her gems that the situation became acute. But that will form the basis of another charge."
"But that was all a mistake," Carrington gurgled eagerly. "I sent Lady Barmouth her gems, but they proved to be those belonging to somebody else. I assure you that was quite an error."
Bates shrugged his shoulders impatiently. He was getting annoyed with this, man, who refused to follow his lead. "We know all about that ingenious fraud," he said. "We are quite aware of that clever business of the paste gems, for which you gave £200 at Clerkenwell. You paid for that rubbish with Bank of England notes marked with the stamp of your establishment. It was a very happy idea of yours and Anstruther's."
Carrington groaned feebly; he began to fear the very worst.
"You seem to know everything," he said. "Perhaps you can tell me the story of the burglary?"