"Yes; the dead man's son," replied Malton slowly.
Naball stood for a few minutes, then putting the note in his pocket-book, once more took up his hat, and moved to the door.
"Where are you going?" asked Malton, rising.
"To see Mr. Ezra Lazarus," said Naball, pausing a moment. "In the meantime, till I have certain proof of his guilt, you hold your tongue." And he walked out, leaving Malton standing at his desk as if turned into stone.
Naball, on his way to the newspaper office, rapidly ran over in his own mind all the details of the case against Ezra.
"His father wouldn't give him any money, and he wanted to get married to that girl; father and son had a quarrel on the day preceding the murder; he was at the Bon-Bon on that night, and took Caprice downstairs to her carriage; she gave him Stewart's coat to take back to him again; in that coat was the knife found by Villiers under the window; she left the theatre long before Stewart,--where did he go? to his office, or--good heavens! if it should turn out to be true--"
Ezra received him, looking rather knocked up, but his face, though pale, was quite placid, and Naball wondered how a man guilty of such a terrible crime as parricide could be so calm.
"You look tired," he said, taking a seat.
"I am tired," admitted Ezra wearily. "I've been busy with my father's affairs."
"Humph!" thought Naball; "counting his gains, I suppose."