“I’m glad you haven’t had all the laughs on your side.”
“I came in here,” Eric continued, “just to see if the cabinet was all right; and of course I plunged into the middle of your At Home. You certainly took a nasty bit of work off our hands by your intervention. Well, I think that’s all. Virtue rewarded, and all that—just like a fairy tale, eh?”
“It’s been a thoroughly unpleasant business,” old Rollo spoke at last. “There’s only one thing in it that gives me any satisfaction. It was our good fortune that the only people who fathomed the secret of the replica are you, Mr. Westenhanger, and Miss Cressage. We know that the matter is safe in your keeping.”
“Mrs. Caistor Scorton must have some suspicions, surely?” Westenhanger suggested.
“Suspicions, yes,” admitted the old man, grimly. “But I think she’s hardly likely to mention the Talisman to anyone in future. She won’t betray much.”
“So that’s why you wouldn’t call in the police?” demanded Westenhanger. “I must confess that puzzled me badly. I began to believe you really thought yourself that the Talisman would come back of its own accord.”
Rollo avoided answering the question.
“You may tell Miss Cressage exactly what you think fit about all this,” he said. “Perhaps she ought to know the whole facts. We can trust her implicitly. We all know that.”
“Well, Friocksheim will be a bit more comfortable to live in, now, or I’m mistaken,” Eric said hopefully as they left the room. “We’ll be three short at dinner to-night, no doubt; but I expect we’ll bear up under the loss.”
“Three?” queried Westenhanger.