“Naturally not,” nodded the doctor.
“If I may intrude my still, small voice,” murmured Ellery, “isn’t this a battle of giants over a mouse? The possession of gold is a clear violation of the law in this country, and has been for several years. Even if you found it, wouldn’t the government confiscate it?”
“There’s a complicated legal situation, Queen,” said Thorne; “but one which cannot come into existence before the gold is found. Therefore my efforts to—”
“And successful efforts, too,” grinned Dr. Reinach. “Do you know, Mr. Queen, your friend has slept behind locked, barred doors, with an old cutlass in his hand — one of Sylvester’s prized mementoes of a grandfather who was in the Navy? It’s terribly amusing.”
“I don’t find it so,” said Thorne shortly. “If you insist on playing the buffoon—”
“And yet — to go back to this matter of your little suspicions, Thorne — have you analyzed the facts? “Whom do you suspect, my dear fellow? Your humble servant? I assure you that I am spiritually an ascetic—”
“An almighty fat one!” snarled Thorne.
“—and that money, per se, means nothing to me,” went on the doctor imperturbably. “My half-sister Sarah? An anile wreck living in a world of illusion, quite as antediluvian as Sylvester — they were twins, you know — who isn’t very long for this world. Then that leaves my estimable Milly and our saturnine young friend Nick. Milly? Absurd; she hasn’t had an idea, good or bad, for two decades. Nick? Ah, an outsider — we may have struck something there. Is it Nick you suspect, Thorne?” chuckled Dr. Reinach.
Keith got to his feet and glared down into the bland damp lunar countenance of the fat man. He seemed quite drunk. “You damned porker,” he said thickly.
Dr. Reinach kept smiling, but his little porcine eyes were wary. “Now, now, Nick,” he said in a soothing rumble.