e of stone. "I have been here many
times," he said evasively.

"Um!" said Bryce in that peculiar way of his, and he looked the other up
and down contemplatively. "I didn't think anyone had been here since
Bradby was shot."

Bryce made the remark in the most casual and innocent way; he hadn't the
faintest notion in the world that what he had said was like a bombshell
bursting beneath the structure of Mr. Cumshaw's composure. He was
intelligent enough to realise that it was more than probable that
Cumshaw possessed knowledge of that almost forgotten episode which was
not shared with anyone else, but he had not the least suspicion that his
casual utterance would hit home so shrewdly as it did.

Mr. Cumshaw stared at him as if he could not believe his ears. For once
he made no attempt to disguise his emotions beneath the mask of
stoicism. He saw laughter in the other's eyes, the jovial laughter of a
man who has always known the sweets of victory, and he jumped to the
natural though erroneous conclusion that Bryce had fathomed his
connection with the late Mr. Bradby. For all that he did not abandon his
defences without some show of resistance.

"What do you mean?" he demanded in the belligerent attitude of a man who
is fighting a desperate though losing fight.

"Just what I said, Mr. Cumshaw," Bryce smiled. "What else did you think
I meant?"

The quiet question was put in such an unexpectedly mild tone that
Cumshaw was left wordless for the nonce, though his face showed in all
their fulness the emotions that were stirring within him. Doubt,
indecision, fear of a kind.

"I thought----," he said and then stopped short.

"You thought," Bryce repeated with a gentle persuasiveness in his voice.
"What was it you thought, Cumshaw?"

They were both fencing, in sporting parlance "sparring for wind," each
of them with the Big Idea almost within reach, and each not daring yet
to put it into words. For the space of a heart-beat they stared into
each other's eyes, seeking to read the other's thoughts. In the end it
was Cumshaw who gave in first. He tore his eyes away from that fixed yet
kindly gaze that seemed to search and read his very soul.

"I see," said Bryce, with a sudden intake of breath that lent a sibilant
quality to his speech, "I see that we are on the same track. Mr.
Cumshaw, place your cards on the table. You are after the gold that
Bradby hid; so am I. Our aims are the same. Let us be partners, instead
of empl