“This is ridiculous, Mr. Crocker, simply ridiculous,” said she.
“I agree with you most heartily, Miss Thorn,” I replied.
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Miss Thorn, and she drew her lips together, “pure nonsense!”
“Nonsense or not, Marian,” Mr. Cooke interposed, “we are wasting valuable time. The police are already on the scent, I'll bet my hat.”
“Fenelon!” Mrs. Cooke remonstrated.
“And do you mean to say in soberness, Uncle Fenelon, that you believe the author of The Sybarites to be a defaulter?” said Miss Thorn.
“It is indeed hard to believe Mr. Allen a criminal,” Mr. Trevor broke in for the first time. “I think it only right that he should be allowed to clear himself before he is put to further inconvenience, and perhaps injustice, by any action we may take in the matter.”
Mr. Cooke sniffed suspiciously at the word “action.”
“What action do you mean?” he demanded.
“Well,” replied Mr. Trevor, with some hesitation, “before we take any steps, that is, notify the police.”