“No, Mr Belknap. But what you folks talking about? Doctor Davenport?”
Guardedly, Lane spoke of the strange story the doctor had told and Prescott caught the drift at once.
“Where’d you get that dope?” he asked, his shrewd eyes scanning Lane’s face.
“It isn’t dope—if you mean evidence; it’s merely scouting for possible clews.”
“Yes, and it may be a boomerang clew! It may rebound against the man that started it. Who did?”
“Nobody in particular,” and Lane looked stubborn.
“Yes, they did, now,” persisted Prescott. “Somebody started that lead, and did it on purpose. Who made the suggestion? Manning Pollard?”
“No,” said Lane. “I’m not sure I know who spoke about it first.”
“Well, I’m sure you know, and you’d better tell. Unless you’re shielding somebody yourself. Better speak up, Mr Lane.”
“All right, then, it was Philip Barry. I believe it’s wiser to say so than to conceal it. You can’t suspect him.”