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Page 117
Freddie grew plaintive.
"I trusted that man," he said. "I jolly well trusted him
absolutely."
"I know," said Ashe. "There is one born every minute."
"But"--the thing seemed to be filtering slowly into Freddie's
intelligence "what I mean to say is, I--I--thought he was such a
good chap."
"My short acquaintance with Mr. Jones," said Ashe "leads me to
think that he probably is--to himself."
"I won't have anything more to do with him."
"I shouldn't."
"Dash it, I'll tell you what I'll do. The very next time I meet
the blighter, I'll cut him dead. I will! The rotter! Five hundred
quid he's had off me for nothing! And, if it hadn't been for you,
he'd have had another thousand! I'm beginning to think that my
old governor wasn't so far wrong when he used to curse me for
going around with Jones and the rest of that crowd. He knew a
bit, by Gad! Well, I'm through with them. If the governor ever
lets me go to London again, I won't have anything to do with
them. I'll jolly well cut the whole bunch! And to think that, if
it hadn't been for you . . ."
"Never mind that," said Ashe. "Give me the scarab. Where is it?"
"What are you going to do with it?"
"Restore it to its rightful owner."
"Are you going to give me away to the governor?"
"I am not."
"It strikes me," said Freddie gratefully, "that you are a dashed
good sort. You seem to me to have the making of an absolute
topper! It's under the mattress. I had it on me when I fell
downstairs and I had to shove it in there."
Ashe drew it out. He stood looking at it, absorbed. He could
hardly believe his quest was at an end and that a small fortune
lay in the palm of his hand. Freddie was eyeing him admiringly.
"You know," he said, "I've always wanted to meet a detective.
What beats me is how you chappies find out things."
"We have our methods."
"I believe you. You're a blooming marvel! What first put you on
my track?"
"That," said Ashe, "would take too long to explain. Of course I
had to do some tense inductive reasoning; but I cannot trace
every link in the chain for you. It would be tedious."
"Not to me."
"Some other time."
"I say, I wonder whether you've ever read any of these
things--these Gridley Quayle stories? I know them by heart."
With the scarab safely in his pocket, Ashe could contemplate the
brightly-colored volume the other extended toward him without
active repulsion. Already he was beginning to feel a sort of
sentiment for the depressing Quayle, as something that had once
formed part of his life.
"Do you read these things?"
"I should say not. I write them."
There are certain supreme moments that cannot be adequately
described. Freddie's appreciation of the fact that such a moment
had occurred in his life expressed itself in a startled cry and a
convulsive movement of all his limbs. He shot up from the pillows
and gaped at Ashe.
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