“The inmates can be divided into three groups. First, there’s the Dangerfields themselves; second, the servants; third, the guests—ourselves. The Dangerfields don’t come into the matter. There’s no reason why any of them should take away the Talisman. Then it’s a fact that none of the servants can be suspected. At least, so the Dangerfields say, and they ought to know. That leaves ourselves. One of us must have taken it.”
He glanced round the group in the hope that, even at this early stage in the inquiry, someone might betray himself. Morchard was leaning back in his chair, lazily following the movement of a smoke-ring which he had blown by accident. Mrs. Caistor Scorton was obviously bored. Nina and Cynthia were trying to repress smiles—evidently the results of some whispered aside by Douglas which Freddie had failed to catch. As for Wraxall, even an expert poker-player could have made nothing of his inscrutable mask. Eileen Cressage looked white and tired; and there was something in her face that encouraged Freddie to think that here he had found the weak point in the circle. Quite evidently she dreaded something to come, but she seemed to be hoping that the danger might yet be averted. Westenhanger, of course, showed nothing, since he was the solitary individual whose innocence was beyond doubt.
“Now there are two possible explanations of the Talisman’s disappearance,” Freddie continued. “One is, that it’s due to a practical joke. We all know how the Dangerfields boast about taking no precautions with the Talisman. Somebody here may have wanted to give them a lesson about that. That’s a possibility. But if that’s the explanation, I think we have something to say. Joke or no joke, the thing’s gone, and until it turns up again, every one of us is under suspicion of theft. Everyone of us!”
He glanced round the faces once more, but still no one betrayed any definite sign of guilt. Eileen Cressage’s expression puzzled him. She looked up and caught his eyes for a moment, but it was he who turned away first, so manifest was the dislike in her glance. Quite evidently the girl had something to conceal, and Freddie grew more determined to bring it to light, whatever it was.
“Just a moment, Mr. Stickney!” the American interrupted as Freddie was about to continue. “Let’s be accurate, if you please. You said ‘Everyone of us.’ That’s not correct. Mr. Westenhanger can’t be included. He couldn’t have had any hand in the affair, on your own showing.”
The engineer acknowledged the American’s statement with a quick smile. Wraxall, evidently, was a kindred spirit, bent on spoiling Freddie’s little effects.
“Very well,” snapped Freddie. “Then it’s one of us here, excluding Westenhanger.”
Rather to Westenhanger’s surprise, Morchard joined the critics.
“Wrong again,” he declared, weightily. “Mrs. Brent was in the house that night; and she isn’t here. I agree with Mr. Wraxall. Let’s be accurate.”
“Well, well,” snarled Freddie, “have it as you like. The main point is that everyone here, bar one, is under suspicion. And whether it’s a practical joke or not, it looks like plain theft. And that’s a very unpleasant business, very unpleasant to us all—to myself at any rate. It’s very unfair. And if this thing isn’t cleared up as soon as possible it’ll leave a permanent stain on our characters. You know how people talk.”