"'A lie that is half the truth,'" quoted T. B. solemnly.
"But it is true—there is some connection between the murders and the slump, and, I say, do your people know anything about the mysterious disappearance of that dancing girl from the Philharmonic?"
"Oh, child of sin!" T. B. shook his head reprovingly. "Oh, collector of romance!"
"One last question," said the reporter. "Do you know a man named Escoltier?"
"Not," said T. B. flippantly, "from a crow—why? is he suspected of abducting your dancing lady?"
"No," said the reporter, "he's suspected of pulling our editor's leg."
T. B. was all this time walking away from the court, and the reporter kept step with him.
"And what is the nature of his hoax?" demanded T. B.
He was not anxious for information, but he was very desirous of talking about nothing—it had been a trying day for him.
"Oh, the usual thing; wants to tell us the greatest crime that ever happened—a great London crime that the police have not discovered."