'Summertrees is no coiner, nor is he linked with any band of coiners.'
'What is he, then?'
'Ah, that opens another avenue of enquiry. For all I know to the contrary, he may be the most honest of men. On the surface it would appear that he is a reasonably industrious tradesman in Tottenham Court Road, who is anxious that there should be no visible connection between a plebian employment and so aristocratic a residence as that in Park Lane.'
At this point Spenser Hale gave expression to one of those rare flashes of reason which are always an astonishment to his friends.
'That is nonsense, Monsieur Valmont,' he said, 'the man who is ashamed of the connection between his business and his house is one who is trying to get into Society, or else the women of his family are trying it, as is usually the case. Now Summertrees has no family. He himself goes nowhere, gives no entertainments, and accepts no invitations. He belongs to no club, therefore to say that he is ashamed of his connection with the Tottenham Court Road shop is absurd. He is concealing the connection for some other reason that will bear looking into.'
'My dear Hale, the goddess of Wisdom herself could not have made a more sensible series of remarks. Now, mon ami, do you want my assistance, or have you enough to go on with?'
'Enough to go on with? We have nothing more than we had when I called on you last night.'
'Last night, my dear Hale, you supposed this man was in league with coiners. Today you know he is not.'
'I know you say he is not.'
I shrugged my shoulders, and raised my eyebrows, smiling at him.