“Atkins,” I said, after a moment’s reflection, “I think the best thing for you to do is to lay this case before Mr. Merritt.”
“What, the man who was mixed up in the murder? Never!”
“You can hardly speak of a detective as being mixed up in a murder,” I said. “Every celebrated detective has always several important cases going at once, one of which is very likely to be a murder. The reason I suggest Merritt is that I have seen a good deal of him lately, and have been much impressed by his character as well as his ability. He is a kindly, honourable, and discreet man, and that is more than can be said for the majority of his fellows, and, professionally, he stands at the very top of the ladder. You want to find your wife as quickly as possible, and at the same time to avoid all publicity. You therefore must consult a thoroughly reliable as well as competent person.”
“But if I go to Merritt and tell him that my wife has disappeared, I must also tell of the strange way she has been behaving lately. That will lead to his discovering that the murdered man was a friend of hers, and who knows but that he may end by suspecting her of complicity in his death?—and I acknowledge that her flight lends some colour to that theory.”
“My dear fellow, he has been aware for some time—since Monday, in fact—that the dead man visited your wife the very evening he was killed, and yet, knowing all this, he told me that Mrs. Atkins could not be connected in the remotest way with the tragedy.”
“He said that!” exclaimed Atkins, with evident relief.
“He did,” I assured him.
“All right, then; let’s go to him at once.”
As soon as I was dressed we got into a cab and drove rapidly to Mr. Merritt’s. We met the detective just going out, but he at once turned back with us, and we were soon sitting in his little office. Atkins was so overcome by the situation that I found it necessary to explain our errand. The detective, on hearing of Mrs. Atkins’s flight gave a slight start.
“I wish I knew at what time she left home,” he said.