“Hm,” mused Harley again; “this incident, of course, may have been an isolated one and in no way connected with the surveillance of which you complain. I mean that this person who undoubtedly entered your house might prove to be an ordinary burglar.”
“On a table in the hallway of Cray’s Folly,” replied Colonel Menendez, impressively—“so my house is named—stands a case containing presentation gold plate. The moonlight of which I have spoken was shining fully upon this case, and does the burglar live who will pass such a prize and leave it untouched?”
“I quite agree,” said Harley, quietly, “that this is a very big point.”
“You are beginning at last,” suggested the Colonel, “to believe that my suspicions are not quite groundless?”
“There is a distinct possibility that they are more than suspicions,” agreed Harley; “but may I suggest that there is something else? Have you an enemy?”
“Who that has ever held public office is without enemies?”
“Ah, quite so. Then I suggest again that there is something else.”
He gazed keenly at his visitor, and the latter, whilst meeting the look unflinchingly with his large dark eyes, was unable to conceal the fact that he had received a home thrust.
“There are two points, Mr. Harley,” he finally confessed, “almost certainly associated one with the other, if you understand, but both these so—shall I say remote?—from my life, that I hesitate to mention them. It seems fantastic to suppose that they contain a clue.”
“I beg of you,” said Harley, “to keep nothing back, however remote it may appear to be. It is sometimes
