The comment on Dr. Leighton’s lips remained unspoken. He had his own opinion as to Fish, formed from investigations which were not yet complete. He did not wish to hazard his plan by setting Alsop to pounding along the trail. If his suspicions were well founded, Fish would sooner or later betray himself.
Fish had grown incautious. Of late he had taken to keeping liquors in his room. He had found an excellent hiding-place, the pedal compartment at the bottom of Moorhead’s piano. It was closed by a lid which swung down on hinges set at the lower edge. Moorhead came in one day just in season to find Fish closing the door of this borrowed cupboard.
“What are you doing to my piano?” he demanded sharply.
“Nothing, just seeing how it works.”
Moorhead went straight to the piano, and opening the compartment, discovered Fish’s two bottles and a glass.
“Do you call that nothing?” he asked, reddening with anger.
“Yee-up, I do,” answered Fish, complacently. “The faculty might not.”
“I don’t want them there, do you hear?” announced Moorhead. “I don’t want to be mixed up with the things at all.”
“They won’t do any hurt. Nobody ever opens the place.”
“I don’t care!” retorted Moorhead. “I won’t have them there.”