'Bully? I don't bully, Cox. Here, I'll open that door, and you shall go through it at once, if you please. Only I'll go with you, and at the foot of the stairs I'll denounce you for murder. If the game is lost, as it will be if you won't play it out, I don't care if I do hang, so long as you hang with me.'
'What--what the devil do you mean by keeping on dropping hints about--about murder?'
'You shall know, if you like, when you reach the foot of the stairs. Take my earnest and well-meant advice, keep in with us, and take my word for it that each moment you waste brings the shadow of the gallows just a little nearer. I'll give you all the explanations you want afterwards, if there ever is an afterwards.'
Mr Cox hesitated. He glanced from one of his companions to the other. What he saw on their faces seemed to have on him an odd effect. He went with the Flyman into Miss Bewicke's bedroom, looking as if he had all at once grown older. Mr Burton followed them with his eyes, the peculiar expression of his countenance seeming to endow his stereotyped smile with an unusual prominence. He looked, as he had said of himself, in a nasty mood.
'Leave the door open, Flyman. I also am interested in the proceedings, and should like to be instantly informed when you do light upon my uncle's precious jewel.'
He watched for a moment or two the Flyman pulling open such drawers as were unlocked and turning over their contents.
'Don't trouble yourself to look at the frills and laces. Women don't keep jewels among their underwear. Turn your attention to the dressing-table, man.'
The Flyman resented the comment on his mode of procedure.
'You never know where a woman does keep her things, especially the thing you're after, as you'd know if you'd as much experience as I have.'
Mr Burton, laughing, lit a cigarette.