“You mean,” said Diana, “that I must let Mr. Maitland think that I am very much distressed—that I believe about the policeman?”
“Let things go their own way, miss. It’s safest with jokes—certainly where single gentlemen—of a certain age—are concerned.”
And she let things go their own way, and this is the way they naturally went. Uncle Marcus went downstairs looking very serious, and Diana followed him a few minutes later, looking very distressed.
He sat down at his table to write to the police.
“Don’t!” she said, and laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“My dear child, I must. It cannot be left as it is.”
“What do you suspect—who do you suspect?” she asked.
“I suspect that my things have been sold by some one to some one—else, and by some means or other they found their way to the bazaar, and by some strange chance you bought them.”
Diana said, being the niece of her uncle, it was only natural that she should know good boots when she saw them.
This appeared to soften Uncle Marcus towards Diana, but in no other way was he to be moved.