“Of course Miss Cressage knows the state of affairs as well as I do; but you can trust her to keep other people’s secrets. She’s proved that already at considerable cost.”
“Oh, one could trust Miss Cressage completely, I know.”
Westenhanger took a chair, as though to show that he had more to say. Rollo Dangerfield, after placing the Talisman in the little safe in the wall, sat down in his turn. Eric took up his position in front of the fire-place.
“I’m not quite clear about the whole of this business,” said Westenhanger to his host. “Perhaps, since I’ve blundered so far into it—unintentionally—you won’t mind settling one or two points for me.”
Again he noted with surprise that an expression of dismay seemed to flicker for an instant in Rollo’s face. “Now what on earth is he jumpy about, at this stage in the affair?” Westenhanger asked himself; but he could find no immediate answer to the question.
Rollo merely nodded in response to his guest’s remark. He evidently intended to answer or not as suited him best.
“What has puzzled me, for one thing,” Westenhanger continued, “is why you have been using a replica at all. Why not put the Talisman in a place of safety and be done with it?”
“Did you never think of a stalking-horse?” Rollo asked. “If we locked up the Talisman, then anyone who wished to steal it would concentrate his efforts on the thing itself, and we should have to take precautions. As it is—you’ve seen the process in operation yourself—the thief thinks it is all plain sailing. He concentrates on the sham Talisman and never thinks of anything else. If he’s successful—it matters very little to us. All he gets is some gilded lead and a few bits of cheap paste.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Westenhanger admitted. “It’s certainly a sound piece of tactics. But doesn’t the secret leak out if the thing happens to be stolen?”
“No,” explained Rollo. “Suppose a thief takes the replica—it’s been stolen oftener than we say in public—what does he do? He can’t publish his information. Nobody learns anything about it.”