It was natural that the robbery should form a topic of conversation as we smoked and sipped some excellent claret, and at last I turned to the Colonel, and said:
“It seems to me that there is a certain mystery about this robbery which is very puzzling. But, now, don’t you think it’s probable that somebody living under your roof holds the key to the mystery?”
“God bless my life, no!” answered the Colonel, with emphatic earnestness. “I haven’t a servant in the house but that I would trust with my life!”
“What is your view of the case, Mr. Ronald?” I said, turning to the son.
Without raising his head, he answered in a lisping, drawling, dreamy way:
“It’s a queer business; and I don’t think the governor will ever get his skull back.”
“I hope you will prove incorrect in that,” I said. “My
