old thing, too. So he had to mimic a burglary, did he?"
"And very stupidly he did it, with an ordinary screw-driver which he didn't have sense enough to destroy."
"But why did he want the book? What did he do with it?"
"Made arrangements with Hepson that morning; stole it that afternoon. Gambling debt. You found that out yourself from White, who had been forcing Barrister for the money, and was sore because he wouldn't pay up. Barrister is sadly in need of ready cash; I found that out from his bank. And Hepson offered him three thousand for his Folio."
"Then Hepson has the book now?"
"Or it's on its way there. That's the reason he turned our telegraph offer down. He wasn't interested, because Barrister had already sold him his copy."
"How did you know that?"
"Let me ask you one question. What was there about this case that was different from most affairs like it?"
Valeska pondered. "Why, it seems to me strange that Barrister didn't call in the police at once."
"Precisely. If he had, he was afraid he would have trouble, and Hepson might be investigated. It's easy enough now for Barrister to keep his wife from knowing anything of the sale; and Hepson will be glad enough at getting the book to say nothing about it for a year or two. There was my start. It seemed queer that Barrister, losing so valuable a treasure, shouldn't report it at once and have it traced, and all the dealers notified. His wife's belief in the occult was what got him safely over the necessity of calling in the police. I
