"My dear Ormsby, you speak in enigmas."
"Enigmas? Stuff! They are a sort of rubbish I never deal in; more in your line, by far. Man alive! I tell you we have got hold of the wretch, the double dyed villain who did the deed, and have laid him safely by the heels in Sunbridge jail. And, after all, Drelincourt, whom do you think the fellow turns out to be?"
"Guessing riddles is not in my line."
"Why, that scoundrel Gumley."
"A--h!" It was more an indrawing of the breath than an exclamation. Never had Drelincourt's marvelous command over himself stood him in better stead. For a second or two there was a slight flickering of his eyelids, and that was all.
"Yes, sir," resumed the other, "Gumley, the under gardener, the man who was arrested at the time on suspicion, but ultimately liberated. From the first I made no secret of my belief that he was the criminal. From that belief I have never swerved, and today facts have fully justified it."
"May I inquire as to the nature of the facts in question?"
"The most important of them is the fellow's own confession."
There was a perceptible pause on Delincourt's part. Then "Gumley's own confession that----" Another pause.
"That it was he who stole my sister's jewels."