This is so frequently the case that the statement created no surprise.

“What is your name?” inquired the attendant.

“Ben Barclay,” answered Conrad readily.

The ticket was made out, the money paid over, and Conrad left the establishment.

“Now I am in funds!” he said to himself, “and there is no danger of detection.  If anything is ever found out, it will be Ben who will be in trouble, not I.”

It was not long before Mrs. Hamilton discovered her loss.  She valued the missing opera glass, for reasons which need not be mentioned, far beyond its intrinsic value, and though she could readily have supplied its place, so far as money was concerned, she would not have been as well pleased with any new glass, though precisely similar, as with the one she had used for years.  She remembered that she had not replaced the glass in the drawer, and, therefore, searched for it wherever she thought it likely to have been left.  But in vain.

“Ben,” she said, “have you seen my glass anywhere about?”

“I think,” answered Ben, “that I saw it on your desk.”

“It is not there now, but it must be somewhere in the house.”

She next asked Mrs. Hill.  The housekeeper was entirely ignorant of Conrad’s theft, and answered that she had not seen it.

“I ought not to have left it about,” said Mrs. Hamilton.  “It may have proved too strong a temptation to some one of the servants.”

“Or someone else,” suggested Mrs. Hill significantly.

“That means Ben,” thought Mrs. Hamilton, but she did not say so.

“I would ferret out the matter if I were you,” continued Mrs. Hill.

“I intend to,” answered Mrs. Hamilton quietly.  “I valued the glass far beyond its cost, and I will leave no means untried to recover it.”

“You are quite right, too.”

When Conrad was told that the opera glass had been lost, he said: 

“Probably Ben stole it.”

“So I think,” assented his mother.  “But it will be found out.  Cousin Hamilton has put the matter into the hands of a detective.”

For the moment, Conrad felt disturbed.  But he quickly recovered himself.

“Pshaw! they can’t trace it to me,” he thought.  “They will put it on Ben.”

CHAPTER XXVI MR. LYNX, THE DETECTIVE

The detective who presented himself to Mrs. Hamilton was a quiet-looking man, clad in a brown suit.  Except that his eyes were keen and searching, his appearance was disappointing.  Conrad met him as he was going out of the house, and said to himself contemptuously:  “He looks like a muff.”

“I have sent for you, Mr. Lynx,” said Mrs. Hamilton, “to see if you can help me in a matter I will explain to you,” and then she gave him all the information she possessed about the loss of the opera glass.

“How valuable was the glass?” inquired Mr. Lynx.