“Well, Carter,” he said, “I would like to keep close to this affair. It would give me some idea of how you work in this country.”
“Good Lord, Ranville,” protested his friend. “Where do you think you are? This is a small country town. How do you think this will be handled? In England you would call in the Yard, with their fingerprint experts, photographers, microscopes, and with hundreds of men in every part of England working under one department. We have nothing of the kind in this country. If this case is ever solved, it will be by what we call ‘bull luck.’ ”
“True enough,” came the cheerful response. “But this is going to be one of the famous murder cases of the century. You want to remember Warren is one of the best-known scientists in the world. And he was murdered, you know. I thought we might take a little hand in it. Sort of play along, as you say in America, with the police.”
There was a more interested tone in Carter's voice as he asked:
“What do you propose?”
“Just this. Suppose we divide things. Let us start with the visit of the Chinaman. Some one must find out about him. Now I have had extensive dealings with them; suppose I look into that end. You follow what new developments came out at the inquest, for there are always developments at such hearings. You know the chief and can work with him.”
“What shall I look after?” was my eager question.
Carter anticipated his friend by saying:
“You being the youngest, Pelt, and as I once heard John Bartley say—young and romantic—can look into the matter of the secretary. We have been told she is good to look at.”
I started to reply, but Ranville gave me no time.