confessed, with ill-concealed acerbity.

Jocelyn Thew sighed lightly. He had seated himself upon the arm of a
neighbouring easy-chair and was resting his hand upon the head of a cane he
was carrying.

"If our friend Brightman here has a fault," he said, "in the execution of
his daily duties, it is that he brings to bear into his task a certain
amount of prejudice, from which the mind of the ideal detector of crime
should be free. Now you would scarcely believe it, Mr. Crawshay, I am sure,
to judge from his amiable exterior, but Mr. Brightman is capable of very
strong dislikes, of one of which, alas! I am the object. Now this is not as
it should be. You see what might happen, supposing Mr. Brightman were
engaged to watch a little coterie, or, in plainer parlance, a little gang
of supposed misdemeanants. If by any possible stretch of his imagination he
could connect me with them, I should be the one he would go for all the
time, and although I perhaps carry my fair burden of those peccadilloes to
which the law, rightly or wrongly, takes exception, still, in this
particular instance I might be the innocent one, and in Mr. Brightman's too
great eagerness to fasten evil things upon me, the real culprit might
escape.--Thank you, Mr. Crawshay," he added, accepting the cocktail which
the waiter had presented. "Let us drink a little toast together. Shall we
say 'Success to Mr. Brightman's latest enterprise, whatever it may be!'"

Crawshay glanced at his companion.

"I think we can humour our friend by drinking that toast, Brightman," he
said.

"I shall drink it with great pleasure," the detective agreed.