"The
place he named was a well-known common quite near London, and our
people were down there this morning before any of you were awake.
And there's no such house. In fact, there are hardly any houses at
all. Though it is so near London, it's a blank moor with hardly
five trees on it, to say nothing of Christians. Oh, no, sir, the
address was a fraud right enough. He was a clever rascal, and
chose one of those scraps of lost England that people know nothing
about. Nobody could say off-hand that there was not a particular
house dropped somewhere about the heath. But as a fact, there
isn't."
Basil's face during this sensible speech had been growing darker
and darker with a sort of desperate sagacity. He was cornered
almost for the first time since I had known him; and to tell the
truth I rather wondered at the almost childish obstinacy which kept
him so close to his original prejudice in favour of the wildly
questionable lieutenant. At length he said:
"You really searched the common? And the address was really not
known in the district--by the way, what was the address?"
The constable selected one of his slips of paper and consulted it,
but before he could speak Rupert Grant, who was leaning in the
window in a perfect posture of the quiet and triumphant detective,
struck in with the sharp and suave voice he loved so much to use.
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