“Let me look,” said Uncle Richard. “Why, that’s your knife, Tom.”
“Yes, uncle.”
“How do you account for that? Policemen don’t turn burglars.”
“It seems I lost it, uncle. I haven’t seen it, I think, since I had it to put a wedge under that leg of the stool.”
“And when was that?”
“As far as I can remember, uncle, it was the day or the day before the speculum was broken. I fancy I left it on the window-sill or bench.”
“Plain as a pike-staff, my dear Maxted,” said Uncle Richard, clapping the Vicar on the shoulder. “You have had a visit from the gentleman who broke my new speculum.”
“You suspected your nephew of breaking the speculum,” said the Vicar.
“Oh!” cried Tom excitedly:
“Yes, but I know better now. You’re wrong, my dear sir, quite wrong. We can prove such an alibi as would satisfy the most exacting jury. Tom was with me in my room until half-past eight, and from that hour to ten I can answer for his being in the garden with my man David.”