Can you guess what it was that was troubling Mr. Huntley? Very
probably, if you can put, as the saying runs, this and that together.
Convinced, as he was, that Arthur Channing was not, could not be guilty
of taking the bank-note, yet puzzled by the strangely tame manner in
which he met the charge--confounded by the behaviour both of Arthur and
Constance relating to it--Mr. Huntley had resolved, if possible, to
dive into the mystery. He had his reasons for it. A very disagreeable,
a very improbable suspicion, called forth by the facts, had darted
across his mind; _therefore_ he resolved to penetrate to it. And he set
to work. He questioned Mr. Galloway, he questioned Butterby, he
questioned Jenkins, and he questioned Roland Yorke. He thus became as
thoroughly conversant with the details of the transaction as it was
possible for any one, except the actual thief, to be; and he drew his
own deductions. Very reluctantly, very slowly, very cautiously, were
they drawn, but very surely. The behaviour of Arthur and Constance
could only have one meaning: they were screening the real culprit. And
that culprit must be Hamish Channing.
Unwilling as Mr. Huntley was to admit it, he had no resource but to do
so. He grew as certain of it as he was of his own life. He had loved
and respected Hamish in no measured degree. He had observed the
attachment springing up between him and his daughter, and he had been
content to observe it.
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