IT was eight o’clock the same evening, and Blake, having finished his task, was dining with the grateful manager. He listened smiling to the other’s eager questions.
“My dear Mr. Greig,” he said, “it’s simple enough. The thief was in your strong-room for one night only, and it was you yourself who let him in and out.”
Greig’s face assumed a stupefied expression. Blake took out his, pocket-book.
“Look here,” he said. “It was on May 28th that Lord Arlingford left his rubies with you?”
“Yes.”
“And on the 29th that you had the big chest from the Matheson-Finches?”
“Exactly!”
“What happened on the 30th?”
Greig paused a moment.
“Come to think of it, a box went out. Yes; I remember. A large plate-chest belonging to a Mr. Fred May.”
“Yes; which had been in your strong-room,” said Blake,
