“Oh,” I replied airily, “that is only a bit of yellow journalism. If you read to the end, you will find that they admit that the police place no credence in their story. I have just been talking to Mr. Merritt about it——”
“Merritt, the detective, you mean?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Well, he must be an interesting man. I should like to see him.”
“Why, you have seen him,” I said; “he was the short, clean-shaven man who stood beside me, and afterwards followed you out.”
“Really!” he exclaimed; “I wish I had known that; I have always taken a great interest in the man. He has cleared up some pretty mysterious crimes.”
“I am sure he would be only too delighted to meet you. He’s quite a nice fellow, too, and terribly keen about this murder,” I added, bringing the conversation back to the point I wanted discussed.
“Yes?” said Mr. Stuart. “Of course, I am interested in it, too; but I confess that to have a thing like that occur in a building where one lives is really most unpleasant. I have been pestered to death by reporters.”
“Well, I assure you I am not one,” I said, with a laugh; “but, all the same, I should like to ask you a few questions.”