Westenhanger assented with a nod.
Rollo Dangerfield had maintained his serenity up to this point; but evidently he now felt the strain.
“Mr. Westenhanger,” he said. “You’re not leading me on to a disappointment? I’ve guessed at something behind all this. Please do not keep me in suspense.”
Westenhanger felt ashamed of the comedy he was playing. He had not thought of how it must appear to the man most concerned. At once, in response to old Rollo’s rather pathetic query, he dropped the pretence that the issue was still unknown.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Dangerfield. In trying to make it interesting I’m afraid I forgot that you might be anxious about the end of the business—afraid it was all going to peter out in an empty treasury. I’ve only been making believe that I’m working this out step by step as we go along. Of course I’ve done it all once before and found the real thing I was looking for.”
Old Rollo’s old-fashioned courtesy returned to him.
“I am very sorry to have interrupted you,” he said. “Please go on with your story. I am quite ready to wait for the end when it comes.”
He settled himself in his chair, evidently restraining all signs of impatience. Westenhanger continued.
“You’ll have no cause to regret our intrusion into your affairs, Mr. Dangerfield. I can promise you that. I’ll go on. With this needle I can prick through the arras and fix the exact position of the hiding-place behind the cloth. You see the stag’s very small; anywhere near the centre of the body will do. I put the needle clean through and leave it sticking in the panel behind, to mark the place.”
He suited the action to the word, then he lifted the tapestry and disclosed the panelled surface.