relating to the frying-pan and the fire. To clear himself, he must
mention his suspicions of Jimmy, and also his reasons for those
suspicions. And to do that would mean revealing his past. It was
Scylla and Charybdis.
A drop of perspiration trickled down his temple.
'What's the good?' said the detective. 'Mighty ingenious idea, that,
only you hadn't allowed for there being a real detective in the
house. It was that chap pitching me that yarn that made me
suspicious of you. I put two and two together. 'Partners,' I said to
myself. I'd heard all about you, scraping acquaintance with Sir
Thomas and all. Mighty ingenious. You become the old family friend,
and then you let in your pal. He gets the stuff, and hands it over
to you. Nobody dreams of suspecting you, and there you are.
Honestly, now, wasn't that the game?'
'It's all a mistake--' McEachern was beginning, when the door-handle
turned.
The detective looked over his shoulder. McEachern glared dumbly.
This was the crowning blow, that there should be spectators of his
predicament.
Jimmy strolled into the room.
'Dreever told me you were in here,' he said to McEachern. 'Can you
spare me a--Hullo!'
The detective had pocketed his revolver at the first sound of the
handle. To be discreet was one of the chief articles in the creed of
the young men from Wragge's Detective Agency. But handcuffs are not
easily concealed. Jimmy stood staring in amazement at McEachern's
wrists.
'Some sort of a round game?' he enquired with interest.
The detective became confidential.
'It's this way, Mr. Pitt. There's been some pretty deep work going
on here. There's a regular gang of burglars in the place. This chap
here's one of them.'
'What, Mr. McEachern!'
'That's what he calls himself.'
It was all Jimmy could do to keep himself from asking Mr. McEachern
whether he attributed his downfall to drink. He contented himself
with a sorrowful shake of the head at the fermenting captive. Then,
he took up the part of the prisoner's attorney.
'I don't believe it,' he said. 'What makes you. think so?'
'Why, this afternoon, I caught this man's pal, the fellow that calls
himself Galer--'
'I know the man,' said Jimmy. 'He's a detective, really. Mr.
McEachern brought him down here.'
The sleuth's jaw dropped limply, as if he had received a blow.
'What?' he said, in a feeble voice.
'Didn't I tell you--?' began Mr. McEachern; but the sleuth was
occupied with Jimmy. That sickening premonition of disaster was
beginning to steal over him. Dimly, he began to perceive that he had
blundered.
