"Read!"
He complied with an eagerness which I suppose but faintly mirrored that of half the Tribune's readers that morning. What he read, I leave to your imagination, merely premising that no new facts had come to light since my departure from the house and the printing of the paper. When he had finished, he bestowed upon me a long and scrutinising look. "This knocks me out," said he, with more force than elegance. "I would never have believed it, never, of any of these men." Then with a sudden change quite characteristic, he ejaculated, "It was a rum chance for you, Arthur. How did you like it?"
I refused to discuss this side of the question. I was afraid of disclosing what had become the inner-most secret of my heart.
He did not notice my reticence—this, too, was like him—but remarked with visible reluctance:
"The weight of evidence seems to be against Alph. Poor Alph! So this is the result of those long, unbroken hours of silent dreaming! I shall never trust a lazy man again. When they do bestir themselves——"
"He has not been arrested yet," I interjected dryly. "Till the police show absolute belief in his guilt, I for one shall hold my tongue."
"Poor Alph!" was all the reply I received.