"
Mr. Martin Hewitt locked the drawer of his table and sent his clerk for a
cab.
At Twyford Station Sir James Norris was waiting with a dog-cart. Sir James
was a tall, florid man of fifty or thereabout, known away from home as
something of a county historian, and nearer his own parts as a great
supporter of the hunt, and a gentleman much troubled with poachers. As
soon as he and Hewitt had found one another the baronet hurried the
detective into his dog-cart. "We've something over seven miles to drive,"
he said, "and I can tell you all about this wretched business as we go.
That is why I came for you myself, and alone."
Hewitt nodded.
"I have sent for you, as Lloyd probably told you, because of a robbery at
my place last evening. It appears, as far as I can guess, to be one of
three by the same hand, or by the same gang. Late yesterday afternoon----"
"Pardon me, Sir James," Hewitt interrupted, "but I think I must ask you to
begin at the first robbery and tell me the whole tale in proper order. It
makes things clearer, and sets them in their proper shape.
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