She returned his fond caress. “Remember, Dick, whether Lane succeeds or fails, it will make no difference to me. We are sweethearts now, and we are going to be sweethearts till the end.”
During her long absence startling events had happened in the big, old-fashioned house in Deanery Street.
Gideon Lane had spent a busy morning away from his office. It was three o’clock before he found time to snatch a hasty lunch. When he got back it was close upon four. His clerk had an urgent message for him.
“Mr. Morrice of Deanery Street has rung up three times during your absence, sir. The last time he left word for you to go round as soon as you came in. He said it was of the utmost importance.”
A taxi soon conveyed the detective to the financier’s house. He found Morrice in his room in a great state of anger and excitement.
“Another robbery, Mr. Lane, this time a small one. A bundle of Treasury notes and a quantity of Swiss bank-notes have been abstracted, to the value of two hundred and eighty pounds. This time I am determined to get to the bottom of it. If you are agreeable, you shall act for me as well as for the other parties. You have no objection to that, I suppose?”
Lane bowed. “None at all, sir. Whoever employs me does so with the same object—to bring home the guilt to the right person.”
There were finger-marks on the safe as before. These were duly photographed. They were identical with the previous ones, those of the expert safe-breaker known as “Tubby” Thomas.
And “Tubby” Thomas, as they knew beyond the possibility of doubt, was safely locked up in Dartmoor.