“I must say, Mr. Cade,” he said pompously, “that I consider your action in that matter highly reprehensible. If the slightest hitch had occurred in your plans, one of our national possessions might have disappeared beyond the hope of recovery. It was foolhardy, Mr. Cade, reprehensibly foolhardy.”
“I guess you haven’t tumbled to the little idea, Mr. Lomax,” said the drawling voice of Mr. Fish. “That historic diamond was never behind the books in the library.”
“Never?”
“Not on your life.”
“You see,” explained Anthony, “that little device of Count Stylptitch’s stood for what it had originally stood for—a Rose. When that dawned upon me on Monday afternoon, I went straight to the Rose Garden. Mr. Fish had already tumbled to the same idea. If, standing with your back to the sundial, you take seven paces straight forward, then eight to the left and three to the right, you come to some bushes of a bright red rose called Richmond. The house has been ransacked to find the hiding-place, but nobody has thought of digging in the garden. I suggest a little digging party tomorrow morning.”
“Then the story about the books in the library—”
“An invention of mine to trap the lady. Mr. Fish kept watch on the terrace, and whistled when the psychological moment had arrived. I may say that Mr. Fish and I established martial law at the Dover house, and prevented the Comrades from communicating with the false Lemoine. He sent them an order to clear out, and word was conveyed to him that this had been done. So he went happily ahead with his plans for denouncing me.”