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
