“How do you suppose, sir,” he asked, “we are to make an arrest if you don't provide us with some data to go on?”
“Data!” exclaimed Westerham. “Surely there is plenty of data here, and I can tell you nothing more.”
“Now come, sir,” urged the detective, “you must admit that you yourself are rather a peculiar person, and, mind you, sir, we of the Yard are no respecters of persons. You came here a week ago. You apparently dropped from the skies. No one knows who you are, and yet you have plenty of money. You buy a big motor car, you order a lot of new clothes, and then you disappear.”
Westerham nodded. “Quite true,” he said. “Go on.”
“And then,” continued the detective, “you reappear. You order out the car, and scarcely is your back turned before this business happens.
“Now, my opinion is—and probably you know more about it than I do—that the gentleman who went through your things was looking for some special thing. I say a ‘gentleman’ advisedly, for valets of the description that you have got do not make mistakes on that score.
“Of course,” Mr. Rookley droned on, “gentlemen sometimes do wild things. I have known a few in my time. Maybe there was some quarrel about some lady. Maybe you have taken something belonging to some lady which the other gentleman thought you should not have taken. For the moment we really do not suspect anything more serious, though naturally we are making inquiries.”
“I trust they will prove satisfactory,” said Westerham.
“You may rest assured they will, sir,” snapped Mr. Rookley. “We seldom fail. Of course, it is open to us to put what construction we like upon this matter if you do not choose to explain.
“There is the beginning of many big affairs in such a comparative trifle as this. Why not, for your own sake, and for our sakes, tell us all about it?