“You infernal scoundrel! These are my dead mother’s jewels!”
“I know they are, sir. They were doing no good here; and you told the ladies yesterday as all jewellery was an abomination.”
“This is probably not the first time by many that you have robbed me?”
“I let nobody else steal a farthing from you, sir.”
“Indeed! You like vicarious virtue! How could you open the cabinet? It has a Bramah lock.”
“And this here’s a Bramah pick-lock, sir,” says Critchett, displaying an elegant little tool.
“You infernal scoundrel!” repeats Bertram. “If I did my duty, I should give you to the police.”
“Oh, no, sir, you couldn’t do that to be consistent; and consistency is the first of virtues. I’ve heard you say, sir, that prevention is suggestion, and that if there was no constables there’d be no crime. In locking up this cabinet you put into my mind the idea of opening it. It is you, sir, who are to blame, not I.”
Critchett smiles demurely as he repeats these words.
“You have debased me, sir, by making me fill a servile office,” he adds. “No man should serve another. You’ve said so often.”