"Ah," he sneered; "so you have spies upon your guests?"
"Always, when my guests are thieves."
Again the words enraged him, and, starting forward, Mr. Livingstone exclaimed:
"If you repeat those words, I'll strangle you in spite of your weapon and your spy."
"I have no wish to use harsh language, Mr. Livingstone. All I want is my property. Give me the two opals."
"Again I tell you they are on your desk."
"Where are the genuine opals, Mr. Barnes? Of course you saw him commit the—that is, you saw the act."
"They are in his vest pocket, one in each," said the detective.
"Since you will not give them to me, I must take them," said Mr. Mitchel, advancing towards Mr. Livingstone. That gentleman stood transfixed, livid with rage. As his antagonist was about to touch his vest pocket, his hand arose swiftly and he aimed a deadly blow at Mr. Mitchel, but not only did Mr. Mitchel as swiftly lower his head, thus avoiding the blow, but before another could be struck, Mr. Barnes had jumped forward and grasped Mr. Livingstone from behind, pinioning his arms and holding him fast by placing his own knee in his adversary's back. Mr. Livingstone struggled fiercely, but almost instantly Mr. Mitchel took the opals from his pockets, and then quietly remarked:
"Release him, Mr. Barnes. I have my property."