Croyden nodded. “Go down and tell Snyder I want to see him, either to-night or in the morning.”
The negro bowed, and departed.
Croyden got up and went to the escritoire: the drawers were in confusion. He glanced at the book-cases: the books were disarranged. He turned and looked, questioningly, at Macloud—and a smile slowly overspread his face.
“Well, the tall gentleman has visited us!” he said.
“I wondered how long you would be coming to it!” Macloud remarked. “It’s the old ruse, 245 in a slightly modified form. Instead of a telephone or gas inspector, it was a workman whom the servant knew; a little more trouble in disguising himself, but vastly more satisfactory in results.”
“They are clever rogues,” said Croyden—“and the disguise must have been pretty accurate to deceive Moses.”
“Disguise is their business,” Macloud replied, laconically. “If they’re not proficient in it, they go to prison—sure.”
“And if they are proficient, they go—sometimes.”
“Certainly!—sometimes.”
“We’ll make a tour of inspection—they couldn’t find what they wanted, so we’ll see what they took.”