In the first place, Markel saw quite enough of me
to know that it wasn't you. Secondly, neither Markel nor any one else
would ever dream that the break was made for anything else but the
necklace, with which you have no connection--the papers were in the cash
box and were just taken along with it. Don't you see? And, besides, the
police, with my very good friend, Carruthers at their elbows, will see
very thoroughly to it that the Gray Seal gets full and ample credit for
the crime. But"--Jimmie Dale pulled out his watch, and yawned under his
mask--"it's getting to be an unconscionable hour--and you've still a
letter to write."
"A letter?" Wilbur's voice was broken, his lips quivering.
"To Markel," said Jimmie Dale pleasantly. "Write him in reply to his
letter of the afternoon, and post it before you leave here--just as
though you had written it at once, promptly, on receipt of his. He will
still get it on the morning delivery. State that you will take up the
note immediately on presentation at whatever bank he chooses to name.
That's all. Seeing that he hasn't got it, he can't very well present
it--can he? Eventually, having--er--no use for fake diamonds, I
shall return the necklace, together with the papers in his cash box
here--including your note."
"Eventually?" Uncomprehendingly, stumblingly, Wilbur repeated the word.
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