"Now, on the contrary," said I, "I have a liking for detective work, and, if there is any occasion for it, I'll be glad to do anything I can for you."
George Lawrence seemed not to hear me.
"Uncle Robert hadn't an enemy in the world, that I know of," he said musingly; "so it must have been a burglar or marauder of some sort."
"Very unusual method for a burglar," said I, thinking of the hat-pin. "Would you mind if I looked about a little bit? I'd like to find the other end of that pin."
"What pin?" asked Lawrence.
"The pin that killed your uncle. The doctors say it was a hat-pin, broken off close to the flesh."
"A hat-pin? How awful!"
The young man gave a shudder, as if sensitive to gruesome pictures.
"Yes," I went on; "and if we could find the head end that broke off, it might be a clue to the murderer."
"Oh, yes, I see. Well, certainly, go and look about all you choose. But excuse me from that sort of thing. I'll get the best detectives, if necessary, but I can't do anything in that way myself."