"Well? It's the same old thing—same old rigmarole, isn't it?"
"That smudge of ink!"
"Your elbow—but, of course, it's all in pencil. You don't mean—
"As you say, it's all in pencil. It hasn't been near ink, so far as I know. At any rate, that smudge wasn't there this morning."
Eves whistled.
"Wilkins knew about your specification, of course; everybody knows everything in this Arcadia. My prophetic soul! He's been copying your draft, Bob, and being an untidy penman, left his mark behind. He must have been uncommon slippy to copy it all in an hour, though, with all these erasures and interlinings. Any one else got a key of the shop?"
"No one, so far as I know."
"Noakes? You remember when we caught him at the drawer? My hat! They don't stick at trifles. This is felony, or I'm a Dutchman. Wilkins, or Noakes, or both of them, want to get in first at the Patent Office; they've stolen your specification."
"That's a serious charge. We've no proof."
"My dear chap, it's as plain as a pikestaff. But look here, what can be done? Look at the worst; say they have copied your stuff, what then?"