"I remember them all," said Morley, with gentle melancholy. "I have a full report of all the cases I was engaged in yonder"—he nodded to a distant shelf. "Sometimes I take those volumes down and think what an ass I was to retire."
"But see here, Mr. Morley. You are hard up; you want money. I am sure they would be glad to have you back at the Yard. Why not recommence your detective life with searching out this case?"
Morley, late Joe Bart, shook his head. "There is no difficulty about this case to tempt me," he said. "Anne Denham killed the girl. But I must say I should like to find out about this clerk, and why he went off with her. Still, it is useless for me to become a detective again. In the first place my wife would not like it, and in the second I have lost my keen scent. I am rusty—I am laid on the shelf. No, no, Steel, you look after this matter yourself. Any advice I can give you I shall, but don't tempt the old dog out of his kennel."
Steel looked admiringly at his host. Bart had been a celebrated detective in his day, although not one of the best. Still, he had made a reputation on two or three cases, which entitled him to respect. "I should be proud to work with you, Mr. Morley."
"Well, well," said Morley, rather pleased, "we'll see. At present I must put my wits to work to get money to prevent my being made a bankrupt. Now don't give me away, Steel."
"I'll say nothing. I suppose your wife knows that you were——"
"Of course. But she made me promise to give it up. Therefore you see I can't take up the life again. But my advice to you—if you care to take it—is to look after the governess, and leave the clerk alone. She is guilty; he is not."
"I'll look after both," said Steel firmly, "after both Mr.—Bart."
Morley laughed. "Report to me all you do," he said, and this Steel willingly promised.