"Then I'll be hanged if I don't believe that he's given us the slip. It'll almost serve me right if he has. I ought to have had him without waiting for a warrant, but the responsibility was a bit bigger one than I cared to take. And now some of those pretty friends of his have given him the word, and he's away. If he's clean away, and all because I shirked, I shall almost feel like doing time myself."
When he spoke again Franklyn's manner was caustic.
"Since, Ireland, you appear to wish me to be a little unprofessional, perhaps you also won't mind being a little unprofessional, by way of a quid pro quo. Might I ask you to tell me what is the offence which is specified on the warrant which you say you hold?"
"I don't mind telling you, not the least. In the morning you'll see it for yourself in all the papers--as large as life and twice as natural. Mr. Paxton is wanted for the robbery of the Duchess of Datchet's diamonds."
If the other had struck him Mr. Franklyn could scarcely have seemed more startled.
"The Duchess of Datchet's diamonds! Ireland, are you mad or drunk?"
"Both, if you like. It's as you choose, Mr. Franklyn."
Franklyn eyed the detective as if he really thought that he might be mentally deranged.
"Seriously, Ireland, you don't mean to say that Mr. Paxton--Mr. Cyril Paxton--the Cyril Paxton whom I know--is charged with complicity in the affair of the robbery of the Duchess of Datchet's diamonds?"
"You have hit it, Mr. Franklyn, to a T."