"Sure. And the stuff's inside it."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll tell you what I mean," said Mr. Molloy.
"Atta-boy!" said Chimp faintly. He, too, had now become aware of the silver lining. He sank upon the bed, and so profound was his relief that the ends of his moustache seemed to spring to life again and cease their drooping.
"Yes, sir," said Mr. Molloy, "I'll tell you what I mean. It's about time you got hep to the fact that that old uncle of yours is one of the smoothest birds this side of God's surging Atlantic Ocean. He was sitting in with us all along, that's what he was doing. He said those heirlooms had never done him any good and it was about time they brought him some money. It was all fixed that Chimpie here should swipe them and then I was to give the old man a cheque and he was to clean up on the insurance, besides. That was when he thought I was a millionaire that ran a museum over in America and was in the market for antiques. But he got on to me, and then he started in to double-cross us. He took the stuff out of where we'd put it and slipped it over to the depôt at Worcester, meaning to collect it when he got good and ready. But the chauffeur gave the ticket to you, and you came over here, and Chimpie doped you and locked you up."
"And you can't do a thing," said Chimp.
"No, sir," agreed Mr. Molloy, "not a thing, not unless you want to bring that uncle of yours into it and have him cracking rocks in the same prison where they put us."
"I'd like to see that old bird cracking rocks, at that," said Chimp pensively.
"So would I like to see him cracking rocks," assented Mr. Molloy cordially. "I can't think of anything I'd like better than to see him cracking rocks. But not at the expense of me cracking rocks, too."
"Or me," said Chimp.