“It was a guess, of course, and I didn’t actually know,” Mr. Tarkington agreed. “But I think it was a justifiable guess. I am acquainted with Averill’s habits; he made no secret of them. Monies he paid out he paid by cheque on the current account—everything that one can think of went through it, even the Ropers’ salaries. The cash sent out to Starvel went into the hoard.”
“All of it didn’t.”
“Why, what do you mean?”
“The ten pounds to Ruth Averill didn’t.”
Mr. Tarkington seemed slightly taken aback.
“Well, that’s true,” he admitted slowly. “I forgot about the ten pounds. I——”
“And there’s another twenty that didn’t,” Mr. Oxley continued, “and that’s the twenty that turned up in London. I don’t get your idea, Tarkington. Just what is in your mind?”
Mr. Tarkington moved uneasily in the big arm-chair.
“It seems far-fetched, I know, and I hardly like putting it into words, but are you satisfied in your own mind that business was all just as it appeared to be?”
“What? The fire? How do you mean ‘as it appeared to be’?”