Scott sat up with some excitement.

"I've got it," he said. "I knew we should hit on it sooner or later.
Here's a field for your genius. You shall be a detective. Pillingshot,
I hand this case over to you. I employ you."

Pillingshot gaped.

"I feel certain that's your line. I've often noticed you walking over
to school, looking exactly like a blood-hound. Get to work. As a start
you'd better fetch Evans up here and question him."

"But, look here----"

"Buck up, man, buck up. Don't you know that every moment is precious?"

Evans, a small, stout youth, was not disposed to be reticent. The gist
of his rambling statement was as follows. Rich uncle. Impecunious
nephew. Visit of former to latter. Handsome tip, one sovereign.
Impecunious nephew pouches sovereign, and it vanishes.

"And I call it beastly rot," concluded Evans volubly. "And if I could
find the cad who's pinched it, I'd jolly well----"

"Less of it," said Scott. "Now, then, Pillingshot, I'll begin this
thing, just to start you off. What makes you think the quid has been
stolen, Evans?"

"Because I jolly well know it has."