"Lastly from Paris; but by way of Paris from any one of a hundred different places. Can you give me a personal description of the gentleman?"
"No," I replied, "I have never seen him; but I can obtain it for you."
"Do so, and let me have it as soon as possible. At present my partner is shadowing him, and he will not be lost sight of. You will never guess where I have just come from, Mr. Emery."
"I shall be glad to hear."
"In the course of such a business as ours," said Mr. Dickson, "we become acquainted with strange things, which, as a rule, we keep to ourselves, secrecy being an integral part of our operations. Some cases take hold of us, some do not, and I confess that my curiosity--a human weakness, you know--has been excited in this particular case. So, after leaving your house, the idea entered my mind of strolling to Lamb's Terrace and having a look at No. 79. That is where I have just come from."
"You have not been inside the house," I said, rather startled, as I thought of Bob and Barbara.
"How could I get inside," he retorted, "without the key? What a melancholy, Heaven-forsaken place! I will tell you what occurred to me, if you like."
"Yes, tell me."
"Just the spot for a crime, thought I as I wandered about; just the spot to carry out a deep-laid scheme in comparative safety. I have no wish to pry into your secrets, Mr. Emery; but one cannot help what comes unbidden into one's mind, and men engaged in such pursuits as mine are more open to suspicion than others. We see shadows behind locked doors, we work out theories in the dark, and sometimes we come upon unexpected results. However, it is no affair of mine, as my own personal interests are not involved in it."
"If they were," I hazarded, "you would follow it up."