“Probably found. Bring Mrs. Hale to-morrow at 11. Answer. A. JONES.”
Kirby answered. He also telegraphed voluminously to his ex-fiancée, who had returned to her home, and who replied that she would leave by the night train. Some minutes before the hour the pair were at Average Jones’ office. Kirby fairly pranced with impatience while they were kept waiting in a side room. The only other occupant was a man with a large black dress-suit case, who sat at the window in a slump of dejection. He raised his head for a moment when they were summoned and let it sag down again as they left.
Average Jones greeted his guests cordially. Their first questions to him were significant of the masculine and feminine differences in point of view.
“Have you got the necklace?” cried Mrs. Hale.
“Have you got the thief?” queried Kirby.
“I haven’t got the necklace and I haven’t got the thief,” announced Average Jones; “but I think I’ve got the man who’s got the necklace.”
“Did the thief hand it over to him?” demanded Kirby.
“Are you conversant with the Baconian system of thought, which Old Chips used to preach to us at Hamilton?” countered Average Jones.
“Forgotten it if I ever knew it,” returned Kirby.
“So I infer from your repeated use of the word ‘thief.’ Bacon’s principle—an admirable principle in detective work—is that we should learn from things and not from the names of things. You are deluding yourself with a name. Because the law, which is always rigid and sometimes stupid, says that a man who takes that which does not belong to him is a thief, you’ve got your mind fixed on the name ‘thief,’ and the idea of theft. If I had gone off on that tack I shouldn’t have the interesting privilege of introducing to you Mr. Harvey M. Greene, who now sits in the outer room.”