“That is what I say. Now, what can the reason have been? I tell you again, George, there is more behind those people than anybody suspects. And who are they? And where do they come from? You can try as you like, but you won’t find out.” “I certainly don’t believe Mrs. Robertson’s story that her father was a sheep farmer in Queensland. I know every town and village in Queensland, have known them over twenty years, and it is impossible that if her father had been sheep farming out there, even in a small way, I should not have known him, at any rate by name.” “It seems that the police were not notified of the theft. Only the Metropolitan Secret Agency was told about it, and for a wonder it failed to discover a clue. You know how clever that Agency is in running thieves to earth. I am told it hardly ever fails, though there are queer rumors as to the methods it employs to catch criminals.” It was Harry Hopford, though Preston did not know it, who had told Cora Hartsilver about the hushing up in the press. They were not intimately acquainted; Hopford had met Cora at a dance one night which he was attending professionally, and afterwards they had recognized each other at the Chelsea Flower Show and engaged in conversation. Thus neither Hopford nor Cora suspected that the other was acquainted with Captain Preston. It so happened that, some days after this conversation, Hopford had occasion to call to see Stapleton to obtain from him some facts about the approaching ball at the Albert Hall. Being, as all journalists have to be, of an inquisitive disposition, he referred incidentally to the theft of jewelry and notes from Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson’s house in Cavendish Square, and casually inquired if the stolen property had been recovered. “I am sure I don’t know,” Stapleton answered quickly. “What makes you think I should know?” “I thought you might,” Hopford replied calmly, “as you are acquainted with the lady and were at supper at her house on the night of the robbery.” “Who told you I was there?” “Oh, the press generally knows these things.” “‘The press,’ as you call it, is a damned nuisance at times,” Stapleton said sharply. “I suppose a report of that robbery would have appeared in every paper if Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson had not asked the editors to refrain from giving her undesirable notoriety. I can’t think why newspapers always want to publish detailed reports of crimes. Such reports do a lot of harm, I am sure--a lot of harm.” “The papers wouldn’t publish the reports if the public was not anxious to read them,” Hopford replied with assurance. “You should blame the public, Mr. Stapleton, not the press.” “Nothing ever did appear about that robbery, did it?” Stapleton asked, looking at the young reporter rather oddly. “Not so far as I am aware.” Stapleton remained silent for a minute. He seemed to be thinking. “Are you ever in need of money, my lad?” he inquired suddenly. Hopford laughed.