flask
had contributed to that, though lack of a liberal education (such as Mike
had enjoyed and misused) must also bear its share of responsibility. He
was amazed at this violent and threatening interruption. He gave a funny
little skip backwards on the dais; his heel came thereby in contact with
the high hassock on which Mr. Saffron's feet rested. The hassock was
shifted; one foot fell from it on to the dais, and Mr. Saffron's body
fell a little forward from out of the deep recess of his great chair. To
big Neddy's perturbed imagination it looked as if Mr. Saffron had set one
foot upon the floor of the dais and was going to rise from his seat,
perhaps to come down from the dais, to come nearer to his grave--to ask
for his scepter.

It was too much for Neddy. He shuddered, he could not help it; and the
scepter dropped from his hand. It fell from his hand back into the grave
again; under its impact the gold coins in the grave again jangled.

Beaumaroy had, by this time, been standing close outside the door for
about two minutes; he had lighted a cigarette from the candle on the
parlor table. The sounds that he thought he heard were not conclusive;
creaks and cracks did sometimes come from the boarded-up window and the
rafters of the roof. But the sound of the jangling gold was conclusive;
it must be due in some way to human agency; and in the circumstances
human agency must mean a thief.

Beaumaroy's mind leapt to the Sergeant. Ten to one it was the Sergeant!
He had long been after the secret; he had at last sniffed it out, and was
helping himself! It seemed to Beaumaroy a disgusting thing to do, with
the dead man sitting there. But that was sentiment. Sentiment was not to
be expected of the Sergeant, and disgusting things were.

Then he suddenly recalled Alec Naylor's story of the two men, one tall
and slight, one short and stumpy, who had reconnoitered Tower Cottage.
The Sergeant had an accomplice, no doubt. He listened again. He heard the
scrape of metal on metal, as when a man gathers up coins in his hand out
of a heap. Yet he stood where he was, smoking still. Thoughts were
passing rapidly through his brain, and they brought a smile to his lips.

Let them take it! Why not? It was no care to him now! Doctor Mary had to
tell the truth about it, and so, consequently, had he himself. It
belonged to the Radbolts. Oh, damn the Radbolts! He would have risked his
life for it if the old man had lived, but he wasn't goin