Fay divined, with the flash thoughts of a professional, that the matter of bringing him out of Dartmoor was an important one. It could be nothing puerile with Sir Richard mixed up in the case. The chief played a high hand and played it hard.
The farce of the mask was apparent when MacKeenon softly closed the door to the hallway, turned the key, then coughed as in a signal. Sir Richard half rose from the deep chair in which he had been reclining and leaned his elbows upon the table. His finger lowered and leveled straight for Fay’s steady glance.
“Remove your cap!�
Fay smiled thinly, reached upward and brought down the plaid cap which he bunched in his right hand. The silver of his hair caught the chief’s eyes. Sir Richard raised his brows and glanced at MacKeenon. He said cuttingly:
“A little older—a little wiser—a little grayer than before, eh Mac?â€�
“A’ hae noo doot ov it.�
Both men laughed at Fay’s expense. The cracksman failed to see the joke. He stiffened slightly and glanced about the room. The windows were shaded and undoubtedly locked. The lamps of the place were controlled by a switch near the door which led to the hallway. This seemed to be the only entrance or exit to the room.
Sir Richard noted the result of his thrust with a steady glint in his eyes. He leaned further over the table and said:
“I had you brought to London for a reason, Fay.�
The cracksman closed his fists and straightened his slender shoulders. He distrusted Sir Richard full-heartedly. There is that which exists between the police and the criminal tribes which calls for no truce. Fay was completely on his guard.