He opened the paper with feverish hands, turning to the account of the robbery of the Duchess of Datchet's diamonds. It was as he thought; his memory had not played him false--the person who had been in charge of the gems had been a man named Stephen Eversleigh.
Mr. Paxton's hands fell nervelessly on to his knees. He stared into vacancy. What did it mean?
The train was off again. Having heard so much, Mr. Paxton felt that he must hear more. He returned to the place of listening. For some moments, while the train was drawing clear of the station, the voices continued silent--probably before exchanging further confidences they were desirous of being certain that their privacy would remain uninterrupted. When they were heard again it seemed that the conversation was being carried on exactly at the point at which Mr. Paxton had heard it cease.
The German-American was speaking.
"Eversleigh?--that is His Grace's confidential servant--eh?"
"That's the man. I studied Mr. Eversleigh by proxy, and I found out just two things about him."
"And they were--what were they?"
"One was that he was short-sighted, and the other was that he had a pair of spectacles which the duke had given him for a birthday present, and which he thought no end of."
"That wasn't much to find out--eh?"
"You think so? Then that's where you're wrong. It's perhaps just as well for you that you don't have to play first lead."