“You are right, Mr.——”
“You may call me Thompson.”
“Very well, Mr. Thompson.”
By this time a foot was heard upon the stairs. The door opened, and Harry Gilbert entered.
He came forward, not appearing to notice the visitor, and placed in Mr. Wheeler’s hand a scrap of paper, on which he had written in pencil:
“The man with you is one of the robbers. I can identify him. I met him as I was going out. The two detectives are in the entry. I thought it best not to bring them in till I had a chance to tell you this.”
Mr. Wheeler’s eyes lighted up as he read this scrap, and he looked approvingly at Harry.
“Quite right,” he said. Then, turning to Vernon, he continued: “I don’t think we can come to terms. I have reason to doubt whether you can carry out your promise and deliver the property.”
“I suppose this is a bluff game, intended to deceive me,” said Vernon, showing symptoms of anger. “I can assure you that it will do you no good.”
“I may find out elsewhere the location of the box.”