Fibsy chose to ignore this dig, and went on. “I’m here because I want to see how you’re mixed up in it.”
“Oh, you do! Why not ask me?”
“All right, I ask you. How are you connected with the murder of Sanford Embury?”
“Will anything I say be used against me?” Hanlon’s tone was jocular, but he was staring hard at Fibsy’s face.
“If it’s usable,” was the nonchalant reply.
“Well, use it if you can. I’m mixed up in the matter, as you put it, because I’m trying to find the murderer on my own account.”
“Why do you want the murderer on your own account?”
“I didn’t agree to answer more than one question. But I will. I don’t want the murderer particularly—but I’m interested in the case. I’ve the detective instinct myself—and I thought if I could track down the villain—I might get a reward—”
“Is there one offered?”
“Not that I know of—but I daresay either Mr. Elliott or Mr. Hendricks would willingly pay to have the murderer found.”