Free The Chase of the Golden Plate by Jacques Futrelle Page B

stopped.
    â€œDid she mention my name?”
    â€œI mentioned it. She wouldn’t admit even that she knew you.”
    There was a pause.
    â€œI don’t blame her,” Dick remarked enigmatically. “She must think me a cad.”
    Another pause.
    â€œWell, what about it all, anyhow?” Dick went on finally. “The plate has been returned, therefore the matter is at an end.”
    â€œNow look here, Dick,” said Hatch. “I want to say something, and don’t go crazy, please, until I finish. I know an awful lot about this affair—things the police never will know. I haven’t printed anything much for obvious reasons.”
    Dick looked at him apprehensively.
    â€œGo on,” he urged.
    â€œI could print things I know,” the reporter resumed; “swear out a warrant for you in connection with the gold plate affair and have you arrested and convicted on your own statements, supplemented by those of Miss Meredith. Yet, remember, please, neither your name nor hers has been mentioned as yet.”
    Dick took it calmly; he only stared.
    â€œDo you believe that I stole the plate?” he asked.
    â€œCertainly I do not,” replied Hatch, “but I can prove that you did ; prove it to the satisfaction of any jury in the world, and no denial of yours would have any effect.”
    â€œWell?” asked Dick, after a moment.
    â€œFurther, I can, on information in my possession, swear out a warrant for Miss Meredith, prove she was in the automobile, and convict her as your accomplice. Now that’s a silly state of affairs, isn’t it?”
    â€œBut, man, you can’t believe that she had anything to do with it! She’s—she’s not that kind.”
    â€œI could take oath that she didn’t have anything to do with it, but all the same I can prove that she did,” replied Hatch. “Now what I am getting at is this: if the police should happen to find out what I know they would send you up—both of you.”
    â€œWell, you are decent about it, old man, and I appreciate it,” said Dick warmly. “But what can we do?”
    â€œIt behoves us—Miss Meredith and you and myself—to get the true facts in the case all together before you get pinched,” said the reporter judicially. “Suppose now, just suppose, that we three get together and tell each other the truth for a change, the whole truth, and see what will happen?”
    â€œIf I should tell you the truth,” said Dick dispassionately, “it would bring everlasting disgrace on Miss Meredith, and I’d be a beast for doing it; if she told you the truth she would unquestionably send me to prison for theft.”
    â€œBut here—” Hatch expostulated.
    â€œJust a minute!” Dick disappeared into another room, leaving the reporter to chew on what he had, then returned in a little while, dressed for the street. “Now, Hatch,” he said, “I’m going to try to get to Miss Meredith, but I don’t believe she’ll see me. If she will, I may be able to explain several things that will clear up this affair in your mind, at any rate. If I don’t see her— By the way, did her father arrive from Baltimore?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œGood!” exclaimed Dick. “I’ll see him, too—make a show-down of it, and when it’s all over I’ll let you know what happened.”
    Hatch went back to his shop and threatened to kick the office boy into the wastebasket.
    At just about that moment Mr. Meredith, in the Greyton home, was reading a card on which appeared the name, “Mr. Richard Hamilton Herbert.” Having read it, he snorted his indignation and went into the reception-room. Dick arose to greet him and offered a hand, which was promptly declined.
    â€œI’d like to ask you, Mr. Meredith,” Dick began with a certain steely coldness in his manner, “just why you object to my