He glanced at Joan’s face, but evidently found nothing very encouraging in her expression.
“It’s been a most unfortunate position for me,” he complained.
Sir Clinton took pity on him.
“It was very good of you to give me these facts,” he said with more cordiality than he had hitherto shown. “You’ve cleared up the thing and saved us from putting our foot in it badly, perhaps. Thanks very much for your trouble, Mr. Foss. You’ve been of great assistance.”
His tone showed that the interview was at an end; but, tactfully, as though to spare the obviously ruffled feelings of the American, he accompanied him to the door. When Foss had left the room, Sir Clinton turned back to Joan.
“Well, Joan, what about it?”
“Oh, it sounds accurate enough,” Joan admitted, though there was an undercurrent of resentment in her tone. “Foss couldn’t have known what sort of person Foxy is; and it’s as clear as daylight that Foxy was at the bottom of this. He’s a silly ass who’s always playing practical jokes.”
She paused for a moment. Then relief showed itself in her voice as she added:
“It’s rather a blessing to know the whole affair has been just spoof, isn’t it? You can hush it up easily enough, can’t you? Nobody need know exactly what happened; and then we’ll be all right. If this story comes out, all our little family bickerings will be common talk; and one doesn’t want that. I’m not exactly proud of the way Maurice has been treating Cecil.”
Sir Clinton’s face showed that he understood her position; but, rather to her surprise, he gave no verbal assurance.
“It is all right!” she demanded.
“I think we’ll interview your friend Foxy first of all,” Sir Clinton proposed, taking no notice of her inquiry.
Going to the door, he gave some orders to the keeper.
“You were rather stiff with our good Mr. Foss,” he said, turning to Joan as he closed the door again. “What would you have done yourself, if you’d been in his position?”
Joan had her answer ready.
“I suppose he couldn’t help overhearing things; but when this affair came to light, I think if I’d been in his shoes I’d have gone to Cecil instead of coming to us with the tale. Once Cecil found the game was up, he’d have been able to return the medallions in some way or other, without raising any dust.”
“That was one way, certainly.”
“What I object to is Foss coming to you,” Joan explained. “He didn’t know you’re an old friend of ours. All he knew was that you were the Chief Constable. So off he hies to you, posthaste, to give the whole show away; when he might quite well have come to me or gone to Cecil. I don’t like this way of doing things—no tact at all.”
“I can’t conceive how Cecil came to take up a silly prank like this,” said Sir Clinton. “It’s a schoolboy’s trick.”
“You don’t know everything,” said Joan, in defence of her brother.
“I know a good deal, Joan,” Sir Clinton retorted in a decisive tone. “Perhaps I know more than you think about this business.”
In a few minutes the keeper knocked at the door.
“Well?” demanded Sir Clinton, opening it.
“I can’t find Mr. Polegate anywhere, sir,” Mold reported. “No one’s seen him; and he’s not in the house.”
“He was here tonight,” Joan declared. “I recognized him when I was dancing with him. You can’t mistake that shock of hair; and of course his voice gave him away when he spoke.”
Sir Clinton did not seem perturbed.
“Bring Mr. Cecil, Mold,” he ordered, and locked the door again as the keeper went off on his fresh errand.
This task Mold completed in a very short time. Sir Clinton opened at his knock and Cecil Chacewater came into the museum. He was dressed as a Swiss admiral and behind him came Una Rainhill in the costume of Cleopatra.
Sir Clinton wasted no time in preliminaries.
“I’ve sent for you, Cecil, because I want to know exactly what part you played in this business tonight.”
Cecil Chacewater opened his eyes in astonishment.
“You seem to be a bit of a super-sleuth! How did you spot us so quickly?”
Quite obviously Cecil was not greatly perturbed at being found out, as Sir Clinton noted with a certain relief. So far as he was concerned, the thing had been only a prank.
“Tell me exactly what happened after you came in here before the lights went out,” the Chief Constable demanded in a curt tone.
Cecil glanced at Una. Sir Clinton caught the look.
“We know all about Miss Rainhill’s part in the affair,” he explained bluntly.
“Oh, in that case,” said Cecil, “there’s no particular reason why I should keep back anything. Una, Foxy, and I planned it between us. I take full responsibility for that. I wanted to upset this sale, if I could. I’m not ashamed of that.”
“I know all about that,” Sir Clinton pointed out, coldly. “What I wish to know is exactly what happened after you came in here to steal these medallions.”
Cecil seemed impressed by the Chief Constable’s tone.
“I’ll tell you, then. We’ve nothing to conceal. I came in here at about twenty to twelve and sauntered about the room, pretending to look at the cases as if I’d never seen them before. My part was to mark down Mold and prevent him interfering.”
Sir Clinton nodded to show that he knew all this.
“Rather before I expected it, the light went out. Oh, there was a shot fired just then. I didn’t understand that part of it, but I supposed that Foxy had brought a pistol with him and fired a blank cartridge just to add a touch of interest to the affair. It wasn’t on the bill of fare, so I imagine it must have been
