Rollo Dangerfield raised himself slightly in his chair and looked round directly at Wraxall’s face. For the first time, the American saw a keenness in the old man’s blue eyes, though their expression was inscrutable.
“No, I suspect nobody. I have no evidence, and I do not wish to collect any. The Talisman will be back in its place within a week; and that is the only important thing in the case. For all I know, the whole affair may be a practical joke. Some of these young folks may have taken it into their heads to test the Dangerfield legend.”
His eyes scanned the American’s features; but Wraxall betrayed nothing under the scrutiny. Rollo Dangerfield pulled at his cigar before continuing.
“I can imagine one of these youngsters playing a practical joke like that. Take away the Talisman and see what old Dangerfield will say! It’s quite possible that somebody”—he glanced again at the American—“may even now be wishing he had left the thing alone and may be looking for a chance to replace it under the bell. It’s an awkward thing to have in one’s possession—even innocently. Well, they can easily put it back again, if they wish to do so. Nobody’s watching the Corinthian’s Room.”
A faintly sardonic expression crossed his face.
“Don’t distress yourself unduly about the Talisman, Mr. Wraxall. It will come home quite safely in the end; you may take my word for that.”
With a gesture as though asking permission, he picked up his newspaper again. Wraxall accepted the tacit dismissal and wandered out into the sunlit gardens. The interview had given him a good deal to think about, apparently. He avoided the other guests and spent a considerable time in going over old Dangerfield’s words, so far as he could remember them.
“I wonder,” he said to himself at last. “I wonder if the old man suspects anything. One or two of these remarks might have been directed to my address, though he was clever enough to give them an inoffensive turn. If he really suspects me, it looks like being a pretty kettle of fish. It certainly looks like that.”
He thought it tactful to absent himself for the rest of the day, taking his car and visiting some of the local antiquities which he wished to see. It was dinner-time before he met his fellow-guests once more.
Eileen Cressage had returned, and Westenhanger came into the room immediately after her. As they sat down, Freddie Stickney’s eyes travelled round the table, obviously counting the number, and a certain disappointment appeared in his face when he found only twelve persons present. Eric Dangerfield and Mrs. Brent were still away.