“Well, don’t let’s be in too much of a hurry this time,” cautioned Westenhanger. “We made average asses of ourselves with our last dip in the lucky-bag. It looks as if we might be nearer the centre this time; but we’re up against the same old bother. How’re we going to prove anything?”
Douglas moved uneasily in his seat.
“I’m not over-keen on the job, Conway, and that’s a fact. The only way of clearing the thing up is to watch her. And I don’t quite fancy the job of spy.”
“No more do I. But if her hands are clean, watching won’t do any harm so long as nobody else knows about it. And if she’s the thief, she deserves all she gets. She did all she could to put the blame at Eileen’s door—don’t forget that, Douglas. And if you do, I’m not likely to let it slip my memory. That was outside the rules of the game, as Mrs. Brent says.”
Somewhat ruefully, Douglas admitted the justice of this view.
“I suppose you’re right, Conway. I see your case all right. But,” he added firmly, “not even the best of causes is going to make me put on false whiskers or reach-me-downs. Worming one’s way into people’s confidence is also barred. Likewise overhearing conversations. Anything in the way of measuring foot-prints or hanging around pubs, will be cheerfully carried out; but nothing of an ungenteel nature will be handled by this firm. That’s that!”
“Don’t worry, Douglas. It won’t even run to a false nose. All I propose to do is to keep my eyes open.”
“Dashed moderate, I call it. Trade Union hours, then. You can have the night shift if you like. I feel generous this morning.”
Westenhanger guessed what was at the back of Douglas’s reluctance.
“Get one thing clearly into your mind, Douglas. You’re not spying on a woman—you’re watching for a thief. Give chivalry a miss. It’s quite out of place after what’s happened.”