“What do you make of it?”
“Make?” The Superintendent, quite at a loss, shook his head in a guarded way.
“Anything suspicious?” demanded the client.
“Not that I can see.”
“Ah!” Gilead mutely requested the return of the paper, folded, and restored it to his pocket. “Now, I’ll tell you, Ingram,” he said quietly. “That advertisement represents a quite transcendent piece of fraud and trickery, and, with no more to go upon than you see, I’ve traced it, as I believe, to its source. Could any one of your men have done better, do you think? But I wont believe he could, and I’m just as proud as Punch of my success. If I’m wrong, I will cry off all detective work for the future. But I may be right, and yet miss my quarry through circumstance or misjudgment. I want you to lend me a plain-clothes officer, a strong, skilful, and trustworthy man.”
“Certainly, Mr Balm. Will you tell me—”
“I’ll tell you nothing, Ingram. I’m going to claim to myself all the honour and glory of this business. I’ll tell you nothing; but—yes, I’ll ask you a question. Do you know George Lightfoot by name?”
“Wait—wait—George Lightfoot? Yes, sir, I remember the man.”
“And the crime for which he was sentenced?”
“Yes, to be sure.”