Such was the substance of the narrative Mr. Meath had now to relate at Heron Dyke.
"I have brought the list of names with me," he added to Mr. Conroy, when he finished. "Perhaps, sir, you and this lady will be good enough to look at it, and to tell me whether any one of the gentlemen is known in this neighbourhood."
Edward Conroy took the paper handed to him, and ran his eyes over the list, but without the least expectation of finding on it any name that he should recognise. Mr. Meath watched him with a kind of suppressed eagerness.
"'Admiral Tamberlin,'" read out Conroy, in a muttered tone, "'Doctor Backhouse, Sir Gunton Cleeve----'" and, before speaking the next name, he came to a dead standstill. Mr. Meath, the suppressed eagerness still in his eyes, smiled grimly to himself when he saw Conroy's start of surprise.
For a moment Conroy stared at the name, which he had not yet spoken, in speechless amazement. Then, recovering himself, he passed the paper to Miss Winter without a word, simply pointing with his forefinger to the name.
"Oh, impossible!" exclaimed Ella, her tone full of fright, her face turning white as death.
"Madam," interposed Mr. Meath, detecting her emotion, "it does not follow that because a gentleman may have been wearing these sleeve-links now, he was the one to steal them from Major Piper. The thief may have sold them, and he bought them legitimately."
"But see you not, sir," cried Ella, grasping the case mentally, "that if this gentleman made one of the Major's guests that evening, and it was he who lost the link in the struggle here with Hubert Stone----"
She paused, unable to continue. Mr. Meath slowly nodded his head.
"Yes, madam, I see the difficulties--if this gentleman is indeed known here----"