The door opened to admit Freddie Stickney. Even as he came in, they could see that he was preparing a sensation for them. His prying little eyes ran over the group, estimating the character of his audience.
“Heard the latest?” he demanded, importantly.
“Spare us the usual preliminaries, Freddie,” Douglas implored. “Don’t drag out the agony. Flop right in at the deep end. If it’s an earthquake in Frogsholme or any other little thing like that, why just give us the simple tale in the fewest words.”
Freddie Stickney seemed to feel that his sensation was big enough to let him follow Douglas’s advice. He came to the point without more ado.
“The Talisman’s been stolen,” he announced, with a certain undercurrent of malicious enjoyment in his voice. “That’s a nasty knock for the Dangerfields.”
For a moment his three hearers failed to take in his news.
“The Talisman?” exclaimed Nina. “You don’t mean to say somebody’s taken it?”
Freddie confirmed his statement with a smile.
“Are you sure about this, Freddie, or is it just some rot you’re making up?” demanded Douglas.
“Quite sure about it. I’ve been to look at the cabinet where it’s kept, to make certain; and it’s gone. No sign of it.”