“I’m coming to that, although there’s not the smallest probability that Sir George will ‘cop’ me. If he does, I think I shall have to say something to him that will prevent him from giving me in charge. But whatever happens, all that can be proved against you is indiscretion—mind you, rather unpardonable in a man of your years, but still only indiscretion. So you tumble to it now?”
“I think I’m getting an inkling; but you might explain it fully. You are a clever chap, and you make things seem so clear.”
“You met a very plausible stranger in a certain pub. Give the name to show good faith. Your friends can prove they have seen us talking together. You got rather pals; he stood you a lot of drinks. On this particular evening he gave you a little too much, perhaps put something in it to make you stupid, and while you were losing your wits, picked your pocket of the key and rushed round to the flat, leaving you to recover yourself. So remember, after I leave you to-morrow evening, to be a little foolish in your manner for half an hour or so.”
“Excellent,” cried Mr. Simmons in genuine admiration. “By jingo, you are a knock-out; you think of everything. To-morrow evening, just at the bottom of the street; afterwards here. Now, what do you think of something on account—say a ‘tenner.’”
“I don’t mind a ‘fiver,’” was Lane’s answer; he was not disposed to trust the valet too much. If he got as much as ten pounds safely into his hands he might back out at the last moment and leave the detective in the lurch. “I won’t give it you before all these people; you never know who’s looking. We’ll leave here in about half an hour, and I’ll hand it over when we’re safe out of the street.”
About eleven o’clock the next morning he received a further surprise in connection with this most puzzling case. A note was sent round to him from Mr. Morrice:
“Dear Sir,—Another development! On opening my safe this morning I found that the packet of papers abstracted in the first robbery has been put back, also the bundle of Swiss notes. I suppose the thief found they were of no use to him and obligingly returned them. Come round as soon as you can. I shall be in all day.
“Yours faithfully,
“Rupert Morrice.”
CHAPTER XIII
AUNT AND “NEPHEW”!
There was not very much to discuss when Lane did get to Deanery Street. Certain inexplicable things had happened for which, at present, there seemed no accounting. Somebody seemed to be doing what he liked with this wonderful safe, abstracting and replacing property when he chose, without hindrance, in a house full of people. One novel feature on this occasion was the total absence of finger-prints. They had been carefully rubbed out.