Ravensdene Court by J.S. Fletcher

I was dimly conscious, in a vague, uncertain fashion, that Mr. Cazalette was going to tell me secrets; that I was about to hear something which would explain his own somewhat mysterious doings on the morning of the murder; a half-excited, anticipating curiosity rose in me. I think he saw it, for he signed to me to sit down in an easy chair close by his bed; he himself, a queer, odd figure in his quaint, old-fashioned clothes, perched himself on the edge of the bed.

"Sit you down, Middlebrook," he said. "We've some time yet before dinner, and I'm wanting to talk to you -- in private, you'll bear in mind. There's things I know that I'm not willing -- as yet -- to tell to everybody. But I'll tell them to you, Middlebrook -- for you're a sensible young fellow, and we'll take a bit of counsel together. Aye -- there was that in my pocket-book that might be -- I'll not say positively that it was, but that it might be -- a clue to the identity of the man that murdered yon Salter Quick, and I'm sorry now that I've lost it and didn't take more care of it. But man! who'd ha' thought that I'd have my pocket-book stolen from under my very nose! And that's a convincing proof that there's uncommonly sharp and clever criminals around us in these parts, Middlebrook."