The results were excellent. A happy combination of deep purse on the
part of the employer and excellent taste on the part of the architect
had led to the erection of one of the handsomest buildings in
Shropshire. To stand on the hill at the back of the house was to see a
view worth remembering. The lower portion of the hill, between the
house and the lake, had been cut into broad terraces. The lake itself,
with its island with the little boathouse in the centre, was a glimpse
of fairyland. Mr. McEachern was not poetical, but he had secured as
his private sanctum a room which commanded this view.

He was sitting in this room one evening, about a week after the
meeting between Spennie and Jimmy Pitt at the Savoy.

"See, here, Jane," he was saying, "this is my point. I've been fixing
up things in my mind, and this is the way I make it out. I reckon
there's no sense in taking risks when you needn't. You've a mighty
high-toned bunch of guests here. I'm not saying you haven't. What I
say is, it would make us all feel more comfortable if we knew there
was a detective in the house keeping his eye skinned. I'm not alluding
to any of them in particular, but how are we to know that all these
social headliners are on the level?"

"If you mean our guests, Pat, I can assure you that they are all
perfectly honest."

Lady Jane looked out of the window, as she spoke, at a group of those
under discussion. Certainly at the moment the sternest censor could
have found nothing to cavil at in their movements. Some were playing
tennis, some clock golf, and the rest were smoking. She had frequently