“May I ask,” she cried, “what Mr. Bronson’s inability to understand has to do with you?”
“Simply,” said Taylor with an appearance of great frankness, “that he happens to be a very good friend of mine and often consults me about things that puzzle him. The theft of those jewels of yours mystified him greatly.”
“Mystified him?” the girl retorted. “It was perfectly simple.”
“Perhaps you won’t mind telling me the circumstances of the case.”
“Really,” she returned sub-acidly, “I don’t quite understand how this concerns the Customs.”
“It doesn’t,” he agreed readily, “I am acting only as Bronson’s friend and if you’ll answer my questions I may be able to recover the jewels for you.”
The girl’s face cleared. So far from acting inimically, Mr. Taylor was actually going to help her. She smiled for the first time, and resumed her seat.
“That will be splendid,” she exclaimed. “I did not understand. Of course I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“The first feature that impressed Bronson,” said the deputy-surveyor, “and me, I’m bound to add, was that the theft seemed to be an inside job.”
“What does that mean?” Miss Cartwright queried, interested.