"I'm afraid so!"
"In that case I can get nothing out of her," said Fanks, coolly; "it's a pity. By the way, do you know who I think knows a good deal about this case?"
"Monsieur Judas."
"You'll make a good detective some day," replied Fanks, approvingly. "Yes! I mean Monsieur Judas. He's a crafty wretch, that same Frenchman, and knows a good deal."
"About Melstane and Miss Marson?"
"Probably."
"And Melstane's death?"
"Possibly."
"You don't suspect him?" asked Roger, breathlessly.
"I don't suspect any one—at present, as I said before," replied Fanks, with a sudden movement of irritation. "Confound it, the more I go into this case the more mixed up it seems to get. It seems to me it all depends on those pills. The box went from Wosk's shop into the hands of Melstane, certainly—"