"It is, though." The most recent addition to their party turned away, at the same time sliding the watch in his pocket.
"It is not! Let me see it." The Irishman held out his hand with a peremptory gesture.
Somewhat sullenly the little round man obeyed the command. It was, as Trenmore had said, a beautiful watch; a thin hunting-case model and engraved "J. S. to C. June 16, 2114." The watch was attached to a plain fob of black silk, terminating in a ruby of remarkable size and brilliance, set in platinum. Trenmore looked up from his examination sternly.
"Who is 'C'? Never mind. I can guess! I remember how you brushed against the man as you went to open the door for him to go out."
"Well, and what if I did?" grumbled Bertram. "That Cleverest guy ain't no real friend of yours, is he?"
To Drayton's surprise, Viola laughed outright. "Mr. Burglar, you should change your habits once in two thousand years at least! Had you looked into that pit of theirs, as we did, you'd not be lifting things from a man who can send you there. Terry, how would it do to let Mr. Bertram try for the office of Quickest? He is that, by this piece of work, and on the police force he'd be-"
Her brother drowned the sentence in a great shout of mirth.
"You've the right of it, little sister! 'Tis the very post for him. Bertram, my round little lad, would that keep you out of mischief, do you think?"
Bertram grinned sheepishly. "It ain't such a bad idea," he conceded. "They tell me there's lots of graft to be picked up on the force. And say, it would be some fun to be ordering a bunch of cops around! I'm on, Mr. Trenmore!"