ce budding under my
unconscious eyes?"

"Now you are talking nonsense," Chris said, with just a touch of colour
in her cheeks. "I say, and I am going to prove when the time comes, that
Reginald Henson was the thief. I am sorry to pain you, but it is
absolutely necessary to go into these matters. When those foolish
letters, written by a foolish girl, fell into your hands, your son vowed
that he would get them back, by force if necessary. He made that rash
speech in hearing of Reginald Henson. Henson probably lurked about until
he saw the robbery committed. Then it occurred to him that he might do a
little robbery on his own account, seeing that your son would get the
credit of it. The safe was open, and so he walked off with your ring and
your money."

"My dear young lady, this is all mere surmise."

"So you imagine. At that time Reginald Henson had a kind of home which he
was running at 218, Brunswick Square, Brighton. Lady Littimer had just
relinquished a similar undertaking there. Previously Reginald Henson had
a home at Huddersfield. Mind you, he didn't run either in his own name,
and he kept studiously in the background. But he was desperately hard up
at the time in consequence of his dissipation and extravagance, and the
money he collected for his home went into his own pocket. Then the police
got wind of the matter, and Reginald Henson discreetly disappeared from
Brighton just in time to save himself from arrest for frauds there and at
Huddersfield. A member of the Huddersfield police is in a high position
at Brighton. He has recognised Reginald Henson as the man who was
'wanted' at Huddersfield. I don't know if there will be a prosecution
after all these years, but there you are."

"You are speaking from authority?"

"Certainly I am. Reginald Henson, as such, is not known to Inspector
Marley, but I sent the latter a photograph of Henson, and he returned it
this morning with a letter to the effect that it was the man the
Huddersfield police were looking for."

"What an interesting girl you are," Littimer murmured. "Always so
full of surprises. Our dear Reginald is even a greater rascal than I
took him for."

"Well, he took your money, and that saved him. He took your ring, a
facsimile of which he had made before for some ingenious purpose. It came
with a vengeance. Then Claire Carfax committed suicide, thanks to your
indiscretion and folly."

"Go on. Rub it in. Never mind about my feelings."

"I'm not