"Well?" said Scott, on his return.

"Seven," said Pillingshot. "Counting Evans."

"We needn't count Evans. If he's ass enough to steal his own quids, he
deserves to lose them. Who are the other six?"

"There's Trent. He's prefect."

"The Napoleon of Crime. Watch his every move. Yes?"

"Simms."

"A dangerous man. Sinister to the core."

"And Green, Berkeley, Hanson, and Daubeny."

"Every one of them well known to the police. Why, the place is a
perfect Thieves' Kitchen. Look here, we must act swiftly, young
Pillingshot. This is a black business. We'll take them in alphabetical
order. Run and fetch Berkeley."

Berkeley, interrupted in a game of Halma, came unwillingly.

"Now then, Pillingshot, put your questions," said Scott. "This is a
black business, Berkeley. Young Evans has lost a sovereign----"

"If you think I've taken his beastly quid----!" said Berkeley warmly.