THE TOUCHSTONE
looked at each other. Flamel had turned white and his lips stirred, but he held his temperate note. "If you mean to imply that the job was not a nice one you lay yourself open to the retort that you proposed it. But for my part I've never seen, I never shall see, any reason for not publishing the letters."
"That's just it!"
"What—?"
"The certainty of your not seeing was what made me go to you. When a man's got stolen goods to pawn he doesn't take them to the police-station."
"Stolen?" Flamel echoed. "The letters were stolen?"
Glennard burst into a laugh. "How much longer do you expect me to keep up that pretence about the letters? You knew well enough they were written to me."
Flamel looked at him in silence. "Were they?" he said at length. "I didn't know it."
"And didn't suspect it, I suppose," Glennard sneered.
The other was again silent; then he said, "I may
[ 130 ]
