that Mr. Parslewe had been taken in by the real and actual thief. I advised seeing Mr. Parslewe. But Bickerdale, he wrote, unbeknown to me, to these lawyers, saying that he was sure he'd had this copper box in his hands, and that where it was, probably the books would be. And those lawyers sent a man—a private detective—down to investigate———"
"Name of Pawley, eh?" I suggested.
"Never heard it, but I shouldn't wonder if it was," he answered. "I only heard of him. Anyway, he came—and his principal followed him—a big, pompous man, who was at Bickerdale's yesterday. And that's where Bickerdale and I quarrelled, see?"
"Not quite," I replied. "How, and why, did you quarrel?"
"Because Bickerdale, for some queer reason or other, suddenly shut his mouth after that fat old party had been, and wouldn't give me one scrap of information," answered Mr. Weech, with a highly injured air. "Dead silence on his part, eh? Flat refusal! That was after I saw you leaving him. Ab-so-lute-ly refused to tell me one word about what was going on! Me! his son-in-law, and more than,
