"Are you
accusing me--or any of us Victor's pals?"
"I accuse no one," Francis replied, unperturbed. "You invited a
statement from me and I made it."
Sir Timothy Brast rose from his place and made his way to the end
of the counter, next to Fairfax and nearest Francis. He
addressed the former. There was an inscrutable smile upon his
lips, his manner was reassuring.
"Young gentleman," he begged, "pray do not disturb yourself. I
will answer for it that neither you nor any of your friends are
the objects of Mr. Leadsam's suspicion. Without a doubt, it is I
to whom his somewhat bold statement refers."
They all stared at him, immersed in another crisis, bereft of
speech. He tapped a cigarette upon the counter and lit it.
Fairfax, whose glass had just been refilled by the bartender, was
still ghastly pale, shaking with nervousness and breathing
hoarsely. Francis, tense and alert in his chair, watched the
speaker but said nothing.
"You see," Sir Timothy continued, addressing himself to the four
young men at the bar, "I happen to have two special aversions in
life. One is sweet champagne and the other amateur detectives
--their stories, their methods and everything about them. I
chanced to sit upstairs in the restaurant, within hearing of Mr.
Ledsam and his friend Mr.
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