“Argot!” He was evidently surprised.
“Yes, Argot.” And I told him all that I had lately discovered about the couple, and of their separate visits to me. Neither did I fail to mention the strange apparition of the night before, which had caused me so much uneasiness.
He seemed much impressed, and stared gravely before him for some minutes.
“You are really not at all sure that the white face belonged to Argot, are you?”
“No,” I acknowledged.
“Well, Doctor,” he continued, after a slight pause, “it’s a queer thing that, just as you have succeeded in persuading me that a hat-pin is hardly a masculine weapon, and that, therefore, I ought to look for a murderess, and not a murderer, you, on the other hand, should have come to the conclusion that a man is the perpetrator of this crime.”
“Ah! but you see, Mr. Merritt, I don’t believe the victim was killed by a hat-pin. I think he was pierced through the heart by a skewer, which, in a kitchen, Argot would have found under his hand.”
“Well, Doctor, you may be right. Live and learn, I always say. I shall at once call on the Argots, and have a look at this hat.”
“Don’t you think you had better have him arrested, first, and question him afterwards? I am convinced he is insane, and likely to become violent at any moment; we don’t want any more murders, you know.”
“That is all very well, Doctor; but I can’t have the fellow arrested till I have something to go on. The hat you saw may not be the one we want; or, again, Argot may have found it.”