The other gave a lazy laugh:
"Oh, I can't tell—every kind of rumor was flying about. They were ready to say anything."
"Yes, that's it. Say anything to get listened to and not care whose character they were taking away."
"Then there's nothing in it?"
"Tommyrot!" he snorted out the word with intense irritation. "The silly fools! Mr. Price is no more in love with her than I am. He's not that kind; he's an honorable gentleman. And, believe me, the wrong's not all on his side. It's not for me to tell tales of the family, but I will say that there's not many men could have put up with what he did."
His face was flushed, he was openly exasperated. Mr. Larkin remembered what he had heard of the man's affection for the master, and his thoughts formed into an unspoken sentence, "He knows something and won't tell."
"Well, well," he said cheerfully, "when a big thing happens there's bound to be all sorts of scandal and surmise. People work off their excitement that way; you can't muzzle 'em—"
Willitts grunted a scornful assent and rose. It was time to go; Mr. Price would be coming up from town that night and he would be on duty. The detective, lifting his bicycle from the grass, casually inquired if Mr. Price motored from the city.
"Oh, dear no. He keeps his car here in Sommers' garage—he needs it, taking people about to see the country. He made a tidy bit of money here last week."
"Talking of money," said the other, "did you know that ten thousand dollars' reward has been offered for those jewels?"