"
"I shall not ask them anything at all about the house," Hewitt responded.
"I shall just have a little chat with them--about the weather." And with a
smiling bow he turned away, while Lord Stanway stood and gazed after him,
with an expression that implied a suspicion that his special detective was
making a fool of him.
* * * * *
In rather more than an hour Hewitt was back in Mr. Claridge's shop. "Mr.
Claridge," he said, "I think I must ask you one or two questions in
private. May I see you in your own room?"
They went there at once, and Hewitt, pulling a chair before the window,
sat down with his back to the light. The dealer shut the door, and sat
opposite him, with the light full in his face.
"Mr. Claridge," Hewitt proceeded slowly, "_when did you first find that
Lord Stanway's cameo was a forgery_?"
Claridge literally bounced in his chair. His face paled, but he managed to
stammer sharply: "What--what--what d'you mean? Forgery? Do you mean to say
I sell forgeries? Forgery? It wasn't a forgery!"
"Then," continued Hewitt in the same deliberate tone, watching the other's
face the while, "if it wasn't a forgery, _why did you destroy it and burst
your trap-door and desk to imitate a burglary_?"
The sweat stood thick on the dealer's face, and he gasped.
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