"We do not often agree, father," he said, in a measured voice. "I mark this exception to the rule with pleasure."
"When I had made out as much as this," continued Ralph, "father told me to call both of you and Charles, to consider what ought to be done before we make any move."
"Have you an inventory of the jewels?" asked Marston at length.
"None," said Sir George, "unless Middleton had one from Sir John."
I thereupon recapitulated in full all the circumstances of the bequest, finally adding that Sir John had never so much as mentioned an inventory.
"So much the better for the thief," said Marston, his chin in his hands. "It is not a case for a detective," he added.
"I think not," said Charles.
A kind of hoarse ghostly laugh came from the bed. "Charles is always right," whispered the sick man. "Quite unnecessary, I am sure."
"Oh, I don't know," I said, feeling I had not yet been of as much assistance as I could have wished. "Now, I think detectives are of use—really useful, you know, in finding out things. There was a detective, I remember, trying to trace the people who murdered that poor lady at Jane's old house since my return."
"But who could it have been? who could it have been?" burst out Ralph, unheeding. "They were all friends. It is frightful to suspect one of them. One could as easily suspect one's self. Which of them all could have done a thing like that? Out of them all, which was it?"