Gilmore seemed greatly pleased.
“You stick to that kind of talk regarding detectives,” he said, “and you’ll wear diamonds.”
Nixon turned away toward the door.
“Remember,” Gilmore whispered in his ear, “any knife will do as well as a surgeon’s knife.”
The doctor, standing at the street door, with his hand on the knob, heard the words, and gave a sudden start.
“Hurry,” he said, when Nixon came up, “help me into the carriage with this sick man and then you can run the place to suit yourself for a little while, but I advise you to keep a closer watch on the door opening on the street.”
“I’m going with you.”
Nixon spoke half angrily.
“Oh, you are?”
There was something so peculiar in the doctor’s tone that the burglar looked up with a start.