"Oh, my dear Tommy," began his unfortunate host. But the younger man put up a hand like a slab of stone.
"No," he said. "There's no time to be wasted, and we must have things absolutely clear. One of us three must have got that brooch. No doubt we are all under suspicion—but I know why I am under suspicion. People say I pulled a horse." Again the Home Secretary would have interrupted, but the heavy hand made an impatient gesture, and again he checked himself. "Marjorie mayn't believe it, and of course that old fool of a Cousin Bill hasn't heard of it; and as for that journalist fellow McTibbert, or whatever his name is, he may or may not have; I don't care. But anyhow, you know it. You've heard all about it!"
"But, my dear Tommy," broke in the Home Secretary, lying eagerly and almost with affection, "I don't believe it. Believe me, I don't believe it. Do you suppose," he added with beautiful tact, "that if I believed it I'd have you here at Paulings?"
Lord Galton just showed at the muscles of the mouth what a fool he thought the man. He went on undisturbed.
"It's nothing to do with the value of the lie—they haven't turned me out of the Posts, for that matter; nor warned me off. But the point is, the story has gone the rounds. A man that would cheat would steal. Also you know I'm on the rocks, and therefore I'm under suspicion. Now we're all three under suspicion, as I say. That old ass, Cousin Bill, got mixed up with the Mullingar Diamond years ago—too much of a fool to pinch it for selling; wanted to look at it through one of his contraptions. Anyhow, he can't keep his hands off crystals. And an emerald's a crystal."
"Is it?" asked the Head of the Family with great interest.
"I think so—I don't know," said Galton impatiently. "Anyhow, it's a jewel, a precious stone—what?"
"Oh, yes! It's a jewel, yes, a precious stone. Oh, yes," admitted Humphrey de Bohun.
"Well then, so's a diamond. A man who'll take diamonds'll take emeralds—what? ... Then there's that journalist fellow—he's under suspicion because he's a journalist; they're all on their uppers, and you told me yourself about the one who stole the spoons when you were at the Board of Works."
A faint smile appeared for a moment on the face of his host. It was his favourite funny story—all about a journalist who once stole some government spoons. He had told it on every occasion. He told it to journalists. But then he was never really featured by the Press.