"You can jolly well be my deputy," said Dick, with emphasis. "I should blush and fidget like a first-form kid reciting 'Casabianca' if they started quizzing me in a public court."
Roger was right, nevertheless. All three had to give evidence at the trial, and Robin Arkness, for one, showed a self-assurance which amused everybody but the prisoners. Nor could Dick have acquitted himself so badly as he feared, for the cracksmen, all of whom had given Scotland Yard trouble before, were sent to ponder over their errors in the cold seclusion of a convict prison, and it was quite possible that the picture of the lonely cottage on the moor would haunt their plank-bed dreams on many a fretful night to come.
CHAPTER XXII
Home Truths for Luke Harwood
"My dear Dick," wrote Aunt Bella, in a letter which Dick received a fortnight later, "you were cheery enough, and far-sighted enough, to assure me, when the clouds were blackest and thickest, that the sun would burst through them all. Your sturdy optimism heartened me immensely at the time, and saved me many hours of worry, which, as events have since proved, would have been sheer waste of nervous force.
"In short, my solicitor's brother, being as proud as he is rich, has taken to heart the blow to his family honour, and has insisted on refunding every penny of the money which his unfortunate relative embezzled. I say 'unfortunate' advisedly, because mental specialists have proved beyond doubt that my lawyer was insane during the period of his dishonest actions. He suffered from a form of legal kleptomania, all the stupider because he, too, had money of his own to play with, and had no need to toy with that of his trusting clients.
"In these circumstances I am not a penny out of pocket after all, and everything in the garden may be said to be lovely again. I had not, fortunately, had time to leave my beloved home, and my golf-clubs are in full swing again.
"I need scarcely say I read, with the utmost interest, the racy account you sent me of your recent adventures (naughty boy, not to have told me of your troubles before). Particularly was I pleased with your graphic character-study of 'Chuck' Smithies, the bookmaker. His trade, as you remark, is a rotten one, but we cannot say the same of his big heart, which is as sound as a bell.
"Purely because he did so much to keep your head above water, I have sent him, anonymously, a few boxes of cigars, which won't, I know, poison him, because my brother Joe smokes the same brand (extravagant man!) and is still very much alive!
"But it is with even greater pleasure that I enclose herewith my donation to the Rooke's House Rag, the new issue of which I hope shortly to have the pleasure of laughing over.