Here Marshall turned with a wink to William Jones, and nudged him in the ribs.
“Don’t you think now,” he asked, “it might be worth while looking for it in that little underground parlour of yours, down alongside the sea?”
William Jones uttered a despairing groan, and fell on his knees.
“I’m ruined!” he cried. “Oh, Mr. Monk, it’s your doing! Lord help me! They knows everything.”
“Curse you, hold your tongue!” said Monk, with a look of mad contempt and hatred. “These men are only playing upon your fears, but they cannot frighten me.”
“No?” remarked the detective, lighting his cigar, which had gone out. “I think we shall even manage that in time.”
As he spoke he carelessly, and as if inadvertently, drew out a pair of steel handcuffs, which he looked at reflectively, threw up and caught underhand in the air.
“You accuse me of assassination?” said Monk, trembling violently. “I warn you to beware, for I will not suffer such accusations without seeking redress. If you have any proof of the truth of your preposterous charge, produce it.”
At this moment Matt, looking bright as sunshine, leaped out of the caravan.