“I don’t believe it,” Monty cried. “If they had the least idea about the necklace, they’d have pinched you at the pier, or got you on the road when it was only you and the chauffeur against their men.”
Still Denby seemed dubious. “They let me in too dashed easily,” he complained, “and I can’t help being suspicious.”
“They seemed to suspect me,” Monty reminded him.
“The fellow thought you were laughing at him, that’s all. They’ve no sense of humor,” Denby returned. “What I said to-night was no fiction, Monty. Cartier’s may have tipped the Customs after all.”
“But you paid Harlow a thousand dollars,” Monty declared.
“He wasn’t the only one to know I had bought the pearls, though,” Denby observed thoughtfully. “It looks fishy to me. They may have some new wrinkles in the Customs.”
“That damned R. J.,” Monty said viciously, “I’d like to strangle him.”
“It would make things easier,” Denby allowed.
“All the same,” Monty remarked, “I think we’ve both been too fidgety.”
“Dear old Monty,” his friend said, smiling, “if you knew the game as I do, and had hunted men and been hunted by them as I have, you’d not blame me for being a little uneasy now.”