"But," I objected, "how could young Glenluce run into the smoking-room, pick up the revolver out of a drawer, and run back through the hall with servants and guests standing about? Some one would be sure to see him." "No one saw him," the funny creature retorted, "for he did it at the moment of the greatest confusion. The butler had run in with the news of the burglary, the Colonel jumped up and ran out through the hall, the guests had not yet made up their minds what to do. In moments like this there are always just a few seconds of pandemonium, quite sufficient for a boy like Gerald to make a dash for the smoking-room." "But after that----" "He took the revolver out of the drawer and ran out through the French window." "But the shutters were found to be bolted on the inside," I argued, "when they were examined by the police inspector." "So they were," he admitted. "Miss Monica had already been in there with young Gerald. They had seen to the shutters." "Then you think that Monica knew?" "Of course she did." "Then her desire to prove Morley Thrall guilty----" "Was partly hatred of him, and partly the desire to shield her brother," the funny creature concluded as he collected traps, his bit of string and his huge umbrella. "Think it over; you will see that I am right. I am sorry for those two, aren't you? But they are selling Brudenell Court, I understand, and their mother's fortune has become theirs absolutely. They will go abroad together, make a home for themselves, and one day, perhaps, everything will be forgotten, and a new era of happiness will arise for the innocent, now that the guilty has been so signally punished. But it was an interesting case. Don't you agree with me?" IX THE MYSTERY OF THE WHITE CARNATION §1 "I suppose that is a form of snobbishness," the Old Man in the Corner began abruptly. I gave such a jump that I nearly upset the contents of a cup of boiling tea which I was conveying to my mouth. As it was, I scalded my tongue and nearly choked. "What is?" I queried with a frown, for I was really vexed with the creature. I had no idea he was there at all. But he only smiled and concluded his speech, quite unperturbed. "... that creates additional interest in a crime when it concerns people of wealth or rank." "Snobbishness," I rejoined, "of course it's snobbishness! And when the little suburban madam has finished reading about Lady Stickinthemud's reception at Claridge's she likes to turn to Lord Tomnoodle's prospective sojourn in gaol." "You were thinking of the disappearance of the Australian millionaire?" he asked blandly. "I don't know that I was," I retorted. "But of course you were. How could any journalist worthy of the name fail to be interested in that intricate case?" "I suppose you have your theory--as usual?" "It is not a theory," the creature replied, with that fatuous smile of his which always irritated me; "it is a certainty."