“I think I see what’s in your mind,” he said, going back to the earlier subject. “You’ve reason to suspect somebody in particular—one of the maids, perhaps—and you don’t want a fuss?”
“I don’t suspect any of the maids—or any of the servants,” Rollo Dangerfield replied instantly. “That’s quite out of the question. I can tell you why. We have a number of old habits at Friocksheim, and fortunately one of them has enabled us to clear our servants of any suspicion in this affair.”
He took out his case and lit a cigar before continuing.
“The servants’ quarters are all in the west wing of the house, and there is only one door communicating between their section and the other part of the building. That door has a special lock, of which only the butler has a key, and it is his duty at half-past eleven every night to see that that door is secured. After that, no servant can get into this part of the house without his knowledge.”
“And the butler himself?” demanded the American.
“The butler’s great-grandfather was born on the estate and for four generations we have known absolutely everything about the family. This man has been in our service since he was a boy, and a more absolutely honest man you couldn’t find anywhere. You may put him completely out of your calculations, Mr. Wraxall. I say that definitely, because the man can’t speak for himself. Not a trace of suspicion could attach to him. Now are you satisfied?”
Wraxall nodded his acquiescence. Then he asked a further question.
“How did you hear that the Talisman had gone?”
“The butler told me this morning. His first business is to go round the house after he has unlocked the communicating door. When he went into the Corinthian’s Room he noticed that the Talisman case was open, and the jewel was gone. He came at once and told me.”
“And you suspect nobody, then?”