Bobbie was looking at him very hard now, and Bobbie was whistling. “Give you the key of the safe?” he said slowly. “By Jove!” His eyes were bulging, his jaw had dropped. “What’s the matter?” demanded Gordon with a sinking feeling in his heart. Slowly and distinctly the words came. “You infernal rascal!” Gordon stepped back as if he had been struck. “What do you mean?” he gasped. Yet he could not mistake the meaning of words and looks. Bobbie’s attitude had undergone a remarkable change. The friendliness had gone from his tone, the light of fun from his face. He glared at the man before him; judgment and condemnation and doom was in his eyes. “You _are_ Double Dan!” he breathed. “By jinks! I was deceived! You’re clever, my man, diabolically clever. Carslake said you were, and like a fool I thought he was exaggerating. You _are_ Double Dan! My brother has whiskers! Where are yours? I thought there was something strange about you when I saw you. And now that I come to think of it, that cock-and-bull story of yours about Aunt Lizzie is just the kind of story you would tell if you were detected--phew! Bravo, little Diana!” Gordon went purple and red; he uttered strange, wild animal noises that had no meaning. “I swear----” Bobbie shook his head. “It won’t do, my friend,” he said. “I see the whole plot. Of course, you and your accomplice pumped my unfortunate brother, who is on his way to Paris or some other unreachable place. You discovered that I knew he was going to Ostend, and you changed your plans. Gordon went to Paris as I feared----” “Alone?” Gordon was becoming an adept in self-control. Alone? That was a poser for Bobbie. “I didn’t think of that. But there’s no reason why part of your original story shouldn’t be true. The husband appears, the lady begs the victim to go and she will follow. That is it!” “I tell you----” Bobbie stopped his protest. “No, no, my man, it won’t do,” he said sternly. “My cousin, Miss Ford, who has so cleverly trapped you, must have some special reason for not wishing to hand you over to justice--had I been she, I would have sent for the police. She has probably taken the wisest course--I will not interfere with her plans.” He laughed softly--Gordon thought that the immaculate agriculturist Abel must have laughed like that; there was something to be said for Cain. “Give you the key of the safe, eh? I was nearly deceived; upon my word, I was. Now go on with your dusting, little man, and thank your lucky stars you’re not in prison.” Gordon went on with his dusting--he dusted the perspiration from his brow, and the duster was not particularly clean. The result was startling. “Bobbie!” he wailed. Bobbie turned on his heel. “Do you want me to kick you?” he demanded. Evidently Gordon didn’t. He began to rub the back of a chair listlessly. He had no heart in his work, and without enthusiasm even dusting is a failure.