The head
detective had known Medhurst for ten years, he said, as a most
respectable man, and even a ratepayer; he had always found him the
cleverest of spies, as well he might be, indeed, on the familiar
set-a-thief-to-catch-a-thief principle. However, the upshot of
it all was, as usual--nothing. Marvillier was sorry to lose the
services of so excellent a hand; but he had done the very best
he could for Sir Charles, he declared; and if Sir Charles was
not satisfied, why, he might catch his Colonel Clays for himself
in future.
"So I will, Sey," Charles remarked to me, as we walked back from
the office in the Strand by Piccadilly. "I won't trust any more to
these private detectives. It's my belief they're a pack of thieves
themselves, in league with the rascals they're set to catch, and
with no more sense of honour than a Zulu diamond-hand."
"Better try the police," I suggested, by way of being helpful.
One must assume an interest in one's employer's business.
But Charles shook his head. "No, no," he said; "I'm sick of all
these fellows. I shall trust in future to my own sagacity. We
learn by experience, Sey--and I've learned a thing or two. One of
them is this: It's not enough to suspect everybody; you must have
no preconceptions. Divest yourself entirely of every fixed idea
if you wish to cope with a rascal of this calibre.
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