"Not at all, Mr. West, I am a detective."
XI
A FROSTY MORNING.[A]
[A] Copyright by Short Story Publishing Company. Republished from the Black Cat, by permission.
"Thank heaven, you have come," exclaimed Mr. Van Rawlston, as Mr. Mitchel entered. "I have a thousand pounds on my mind, and——"
"Never heard of the disease," interrupted Mr. Mitchel. "If you consider mind and brain to be synonymous, the locality is popularly supposed to be inundated with water occasionally—but then, you mentioned a thousand pounds, and, a pound being a pint, we would have a thousand pints, or five hundred quarts, and—well, really, your head seems hardly large enough, so——"
"I am talking of money," ejaculated Mr. Van Rawlston, sharply; "English money. Pounds sterling."
"The deuce you are! Money, eh? Money on the brain! Oh, I've heard of that. It is a very common disorder."
"Mitchel, I sent for you to help me. I am up to my ears in a mystery. I've been in this room nearly all day trying to solve it. I've had your friend Barnes working on it for several hours, yet we have made no progress. In despair I thought of you; of your cool, keen, analytical brain, and I decided that you could discover the truth, if any man can. But if you are in a jesting humor, why——"