"I should be more than delighted," responded Morley quickly, "and would make all the amends in my power for my unjust suspicions. But you have first to prove them unjust. Believe me, Ware, I admired Miss Denham as much as my wife did, and thought much of her. I defended her from poor Daisy's aspersions, and would have stood her friend all through but for this last act of hers. Well! Well, don't get angry. I am willing to be shown that I am wrong. Show me."
Giles reflected for a moment, then went straight to the point.
"I have been with Steel," he said abruptly, "and he tells me that you have been in the detective line yourself."
Morley nodded. "Quite so," he answered, "although I asked Steel to say nothing about it. I am a private gentleman now, and I don't want my former occupation to be known in Rickwell. A prejudice exists against detectives, Ware. People don't like them, because every one has something to conceal, and with a trained man he or she is afraid lest some secret sin should come to light."
"It may be so, although that is rather a cynical way of looking at the matter. But you are really Joe Bart?"
"Yes. And quite at your service. Only keep this quiet."
"Certainly. I quite appreciate your reasons for wanting the matter kept quiet. But see here, Mr. Morley—I shall call you so."
"It will be better," replied the ex-detective cheerfully, "and I have a sort of right to the name. It was my mother's."
"Very good. Then as Morley why should you not exercise your old skill and help me to find out who killed Daisy?"
"I should be delighted, and what skill remains to me is at your service. But I am rusty now, and cannot follow a trail with my old persistence or talent. Besides, my mind is made up as to the guilt——"