[CHAPTER II.]
THE SPECTRE CAT.
"That's a rum start," said Constable Wigg. "Was it Mr. Felix?"
"No," replied Constable Nightingale, "Mr. Felix is altogether a different kind of man. Takes things more coolly. Walks slow, talks slow, thinks slow, looks at you slow. This fellow was like a flash of lightning. Did you catch sight of his face?"
"He was in such a devil of a hurry that there was no catching sight of anything except the red handkerchief round his neck. There was no mistaking that. Seemed a youngish man."
"Yes. Been on a visit to Mr. Felix, most likely."
"Or to some other lodger in the house," suggested Constable Wigg.
"There ain't no other," said Constable Nightingale. "Every room in it except the basement is let to Mr. Felix."
"A married man, then' with a large family?"
"No," said Constable Nightingale, with a little cough. "Single. Or, perhaps, a widower. No business of ours, Wigg."