“Heard the news, you two? The Talisman’s out of print, it seems. No copies available for the public. Somebody’s taken a fancy to it and simply lifted it. That’s a fine end to all the Dangerfield talk, isn’t it?”
With a certain ill-suppressed maliciousness, he gave them all the information he had collected during the day.
“Just as well you were away last night, Westenhanger,” he wound up. “You’re clear of suspicion. But all the rest of us are in it up to the neck. Servants exonerated without a stain on their character. Strong suspicion attaches to every guest. That’s how the land lies.”
“Oh, indeed, Freddie,” said Westenhanger. “Then, if we must suspect somebody, we may as well begin with yourself. What about it? Anything you say will be used against you at the trial, without regard for age or sex. Where’s my notebook?”
“It’s all very well for you,” protested Freddie. “You’re out of it all. But what about the rest of us? It’s a nasty idea to feel that the person sitting next to you in this room may be a thief.”
Westenhanger looked him up and down for a moment before replying.
“If I were you, Freddie, I don’t think I’d begin flinging words like ‘thief’ about quite so early in the day. These things are apt to be resented by some people. Isn’t there any other possible explanation?”
Freddie pondered for a while in silence, then he made a half-hearted suggestion:
“It might be a practical joke.”
Westenhanger considered the idea and rejected it almost immediately.