Chapter XIII
The American
Visitor
SUPERINTENDENT Battle replaced the sheet with the slightly crest-fallen air of a man whose best point has fallen flat. Anthony stood with his hands in his pockets lost in thought.
“So that’s what old Lollipop meant when he talked about ‘other means,’ ” he murmured at last.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Cade?”
“Nothing, superintendent. Forgive my abstraction. You see, I—or rather my friend, Jimmy McGrath, has been very neatly done out of a thousand pounds.”
“A thousand pounds is a nice sum of money,” said Battle.
“It isn’t the thousand pounds so much,” said Anthony, “though I agree with you that it’s a nice sum of money. It’s being done that maddens me. I handed over that manuscript like a little woolly lamb. It hurts, superintendent, indeed it hurts.”
The detective said nothing.
“Well, well,” said Anthony. “Regrets are vain, and all may not yet be lost. I’ve only got to get hold of dear old Stylptitch’s Reminiscences between now and next Wednesday and all will be gas and gaiters.”
“Would you mind coming back to the Council Chamber, Mr. Cade? There’s one little thing I want to point out to you.”
Back in the Council Chamber, the detective strode over at once to the middle window.
“I’ve been thinking, Mr. Cade. This particular window is very stiff, very stiff indeed. You might have been mistaken in thinking that it was fastened. It might just have stuck. I’m sure—yes, I’m almost sure, that you were mistaken.”
Anthony eyed him keenly.
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